University  of  California. 

FROM    TIIM    LIliKARY    OF 

D  R  .     F  R  A  N  C  I  S     LI  E  B  E  R , 

rr<.fc<sur  of  History  and  Law  in  Columbia  College,  New  York. 


TIIK    (11  FT   OK 


MICHAEL     REESE, 

( )f  San  Francisco. 
1  H  7  3  . 


Written  for  the  Home  Journal. 
BOOKS  RECENTLY  PUBLISHED. 

By  George  P. 


-  .        rge 

P.Marah.    New-York  :    Charles  Scribnor,  Grand-street 
-          works  have 


volume,  as  a  man  would  feel  that  should  discover  on  hil 


fervent 


ssaggs—sss 

—       t/u.o  ouu4  ^Bqcj  JO  A*!JQlXire  pUl3[  9qj    f  89A*9  ©SO 


esoq 


jo  qonra 
noA  ncdn  pdMojseq  si  '4«q^  qono;  9|gais  -e  U&A 


esoq;   ui 


aq^  90i^on  'BOIOA  a'eap  ^eq^  o;  tf&^sit  '' 


WOLFE  OF  THE  KNOLL, 


AND     OTHER     POEMS 


MRS.  GEORGE  P.  MARSH. 


NEW  YORK  : 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER,   GRAND   STREET, 

LONDON: 

SAMPSON  LOW,  SON  &  COMPANY. 
1860. 


ENTERED,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1859,  by 

CHAELES    SCKIBNER, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the  Southern 
District  of  New  York. 


JOHN  F.  TROW, 

AND    KLKCTROTYPWS, 


PRINTER,  STKRKOTVPKR,    ANI>    KLKCTRO 

377  m:d  879  Brji.lway, 
Cor.  Wkite  Street,  New  York. 


CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

WOLFE  OP  THE  KNOLL,      ....                 ...  13 

NlORTHR  AND  SKATHI, 229 

A  FABLE, 236 

THE  MAID  OP  THE  MERRY  HEART, 238 

A  LAY  OP  THE  DANUBE  : 

I.  The  Wissehrad, 240 

II.  The  Magyar  Maid, 242 

DANIEL,  THE  CISTERCIAN, 248 

THE  FOUNTAIN  OP  THE  POOR, 251 

THE  WATER  OP  EL  ARBAIN, 256 

AXEL  (from  the  Swedish  of  Tegner),       .        .                  .         .  261 

SONG  OF  THE  LAPLAND  LOVER  (from  the  Swedish  of  Franzen),      .  308 

THE  Moss-Ross  (from  the  German  of  Helmine  von  Chezy),     .  811 

THE  GLOW-WORM  (from  the  German  of  Helmine  von  Chezy),      .  314 

A  GODLIE  HYMNE  (from  the  German  of  Zuinglius),          .         .  316 

To ,                                                                                         ,  324 


WOLFE    OF   THE   KNOLL. 


INTRODUCTION. 

THE  scene  of  the  following  poem  is  laid  alternately  on  the 
island  of  Amrum  near  the  coast  of  the  duchy  of  Schleswig- 
Holstein,  and  in  the  city  of  Tunis  and  the  territory  of  that  Bey- 
lik.  In  the  descriptions  of  the  island  and  of  the  manners  of 
its  inhabitants,  are  embraced  not  only  the  characteristic  features 
of  Amrum  itself,  but  those  belonging  to  the  Halligs,  or  low  tide- 
washed  islands  of  the  same  shallow  waters,  and  they  have  been 
drawn  principally  from  J.  G.  KOHL'S  "  Harschen  und  Inseln  der 
Herzogtliumer  Schleswig  und  Holstein"  and  from  a  tale  by 
Biernatzki. 

The  singular  geography  of  the  Frisian  country,  and  the  strange 
life  of  its  people,  seem  to  have  made  a  powerful  impression  on 
Tacitus  and  the  elder  Pliny.  The  latter  gives,  in  Book  xvi., 
chap.  i.  of  his  " Natural  History"  a  lively  description  of  the 
scene  of  this  part  of  our  story,  which,  in  the  words  of  KOHL, 
"  is  as  faithful  and  striking,  as  if,  like  me,  he  had  himself  sailed 
over  from  Wyk  to  Oland  with  Skipper  Jilke  Junk  Jiirgens." 
For  Holland's  translation  of  the  passage  the  reader  is  referred  to 
the  Appendix  I. 

Tacitus,  speaking  of  Germany  generally,  argues  that  the 


INTRODUCTION. 

people  must  have  been  indigenous,  because  no  man  would  ever 
leave  Asia,  Africa  or  Italy,  and  brave  the  horrors  of  the  deep, 
to  become  a  resident  of  so  desolate  and  wretched  a  region.  It 
appears,  both  from  his  testimony  and  from  other  sources,  that 
the  Frisians  of  the  coast  and  the  islands  have,  from  the  earliest 
ages,  been  remarkable  for  their  courage  and  independence.  For 
an  amusing  version  of  the  story  of  the  two  ambassadors,  whose 
appearance  in  the  theatre  at  Koine  is  commemorated  by  TACITUS, 
Annal.  13,  54,  the  reader  is  again  referred  to  the  Appendix  II. 

The  pictures  of  the  Sahara,  and  of  the  wild  tribes  who 
traverse  it,  are  drawn  partly  from  the  writer's  personal  obser 
vation  of  desert-life  and  scenery,  and  partly  from  authorities 
which  will  be  given  hereafter. 

The  leading  incidents  of  the  story  are  taken  from  a  tradition 
contained  in  the  first  chapter  of  the  second  volume  of  KOHL'S 
work,  and  the  name  of  the  poem  is  from  the  same  source. 

It  may  be  unnecessary  to  say,  that  the  narrative  is  intended 
to  serve  merely  as  a  thread  to  connect  the  strong  contrasts  of 
life  and  nature  offered  by  the  peculiar  regions  that  have  been 
selected  for  description. 


WOLFE  OF  THE  KNOLL 


CANTO    I. 

AMEOOM. 

COME,  ye  that  are  weary  of  heart,  with  me 

To  a  far-off  isle  in  a  lonely  sea ! 

It  lies,  not  glowing  'ncath  tropical  skies, 

Cradled  in  waters  of  amethyst  dyes  ; 

No  vine-wreaths  are  there,  no  feathery  palms, 

No  blossoms  are  filling  the  air  with  balms, 

No  forests  are  waving,  no  stately  trees — 

Grand  organs  played  by  the  tune-loving  breeze — 

Not  even  a  coppice  where  summer  birds  throng 

Dazzling  with  plumage  or  thrilling  with  song  ; 

No  stream  leapeth  wild  from  the  mountain-side, 
1* 


14  WOLFE  OF  THE  KNOLL. 

'Neath  cavernous  rocks  for  a  moment  to  hide, 
Then  calmly  through  winding  valleys  to  glide. 
No  lake  nestles  there,  with  its  fairy  skiffs, 
Half  silvered  by  moonlight,  half  shaded  by  cliffs. 
Our  desolate  choice  hath  no  charms  like  these, 
Sad  hearts  to  comfort,  or  glad  ones  to  please. 
The  sea  casteth  pearls  on  Araby's  strand, 
Shells,  corals,  and  sea-moss,  and  ruby  sand ; 
And  emerald,  scarlet,  and  gold  fish  there 
Flash  through  his  waters  transparent  as  air. 
His  wavelets  are  laughing  all  night  on  that  shore, 
Tossing  their  jewels  at  touch  of  the  oar.* 
But  angry  and  hoarse  is  the  voice  of  the  tide, 
As  he  lashes  our  island's  trembling  side, 
And  rolls  up  the  ooze  from  his  slimy  bed, 
The  pale  thin  meadows  to  overspread, 
Then  leaves,  as  he  slowly  sinketh  back, 
The  muscle,  the  crab,  and  the  ray  in  his  track. 

*  The  brilliant  flashes  of  phosphoric  light,  seen  when  the  waves  dash 
upon  the  reefs,  or  are  broken  by  the  oar  or  otherwise,  are  called  by  the 
Arabs  "the  jewels  of  the  deep." 


AMROOM.  15 

Else  few  are  the  gifts  that  he  bringeth  the  while ; 
He  weareth  at  best  but  a  mocking  smile. 
Like  a  foe  confessed,  who  knoweth  his  power, 
And  his  victim's  weakness,  yet  bides  the  hour.* 

On  the  North  Sea's  icy  and  heaving  breast 
The  islet  of  AMROOM  finds  doubtful  rest, 
Above  the  wild  waters  scarce  holdeth  its  place, 
And  bleak  are  the  winds  that  sweep  o'er  its  face 
All  bare  to  the  blast,  for  shelter  is  none, 
Save  what  the  billows  in  scorn  have  upthrown — 
The  downs  low  and  broken  along  the  strand, 
'Gainst  the  North  Sea  a  rampart  of  shifting  sand. 
'Twould  seem  that  King  ^Egir,f  in  merry  mood, 
Would  teach  us  to  fetter  his  own  wild  flood. 


*  One  is  constantly  reminded  by  the  figurative  language  of  the  people 
that  the  whole  coast  is  at  war  with  the  sea.  They  always  speak  of  the 
west  wind  and  the  ocean  as  "  the  enemy ; "  of  the  downs  and  dykes  as 
"  the  defences  and  intrenchments  against  the  enemy ; "  of  the  outer  tier 
of  islands  as  "the  vanguard,"  and  of  the  inner  as  "the  rear-guard." 

•j-  In  the  Scandinavian  mythology  JEglr  is  a  sea-god,  who  personifies 
the  destructive,  as  Njord  does  the  beneficent  powers  of  the  ocean. 


16  WOLFE   OF   THE   KNOLL. 

But  man  may  not  trust  to  his  treacherous  art — 
One  stroke,  in  his  wrath,  and  those  hills  shall  part ! 
The  rest  of  the  island,  level  and  low, 
The  turbulent  tide  doth  oft  overflow, 
Nor  is  thus  contented ;  but  day  by  day 
Doth  he  crumble  that  dwindling  sod  away, 
And  foot  by  foot  it  is  narrowing  fast ; 
All  will  be  melted  in  ocean  at  last. 

But  who  are  the  dwellers  on  this  lone  spot 

By  nature  herself  disowned  and  forgot, 

That  here  we  should  linger  in  such  a  waste, 

Unblest  as  the  fancy  of  poet  e'er  traced  ! 

Why  seek  we  not,  rather,  some  coralline  isle 

Of  seas  Pacific,  to  feast  for  awhile 

On  flowers  that  would  seem  to  our  wondering  eyes 

To  have  dropped  from  the  fields  of  Paradise — 

On  fruits  that  a  flavor  as  rich  might  boast 

As  the  pride  of  Ulysses'  royal  host — 

Where  beauty,  as  soft  as  the  Latmian  dreams 


AMKOOM. 

Of  England's  slain  poet,  forever  beams — 
Where  mermaids  hollow  their  sparkling  caves 
In  the  crystal  rocks  that  the  cool  tide  laves, 
And  blow  sweet  airs  through  their  pearly  shells 
Till  wide  o'er  the  island  the  harmony  swells  1 
Ah  !  our  brother  man — so  fallen,  so  low  ! 
"With  an  aching  heart  we  should  turn  and  go  ! 
Then  choose  for  our  dreaming  this  desert  sod, 
With  a  truth-loving  folk,  that  feareth  God  ! 


17 


Through  fiery  haze  descends  the  sun, 

And  throws  across  the  waters  dun 

A  slender  band  of  ruddy  stain 

So  bright  it  seems  the  golden  chain, 

That  binds  earth  to  his  glorious  sphere, 

Is  visibly  extended  here, 

And  that  the  dancing  waves  may  break 

The  flashing  links  they  rudely  shake. 

Tranquilly  doth  our  islet  sleep, 

This  eventide,  upon  the  deep. 


18  WOLFE   OF   THE   KNOLL. 

O'er  its  bare  face  the  slant  rays  pass 

And  gild  it  with  a  tender  glow, 

Leaving  no  image  on  the  grass, 

Of  rocky  crag  or  greenwood  bough  ; 

The  crescent  line  of  downs  alone 

Hath  eastward  a  broad  shadow  thrown, 

And  the  poor  cotter's  lowly  roof, 

From  angry  spring-tides  held  aloof 

By  the  turfed  mound  his  hands  have  reared* 

Above  the  reach  of  foe  so  feared, 

In  lengthening  lines  fantastic  drawn, 

Lies  pictured  on  the  sea- washed  lawn  ; 

While  flocks,  slow  drawing  toward  each  thatch, 

Still  eager,  their  scant  pasture  snatch. 

His  homeward  path  the  peasant  treads, 

His  children  gather  at  his  knee, 

Their  slender  board  the  mother  spreads — 

Here  all  is  peace  and  poverty. 


*  The  inhabitants  of  these  tide-islands  are  obliged  to  erect  their  humble 
dwellings  on  artificial  mounds  raised  above  the  reach  of  high-water. 


AMROOM.  19 

Without,  no  sound  but  the  low  dash 

Of  tidal  wave,  the  cry  or  plash 

Of  the  wild  sea-bird,  glancing  bright 

As  starry  meteor  in  its  flight. 

No  children  on  that  strand  are  seen 

Grouped  merrily  in  noisy  play, 

No  muser  marks  with  thoughtful  mien 

The  dying  splendors  of  the  day, 

No  stranger-eyes  with  wonder  view 

A  scene  so  lonely  and  so  new. 

But  on  yon  knoll  an  old  man  stands 

With  furrowed  cheeks  and  toil-worn  hands  ; 

His  long,  loose  hair  is  bleached  as  hoar 

As  the  bright  foam  that  wreathes  the  shore ; 

His  form,  erect  in  youthful  prime, 

Bends  'neath  the  gathered  griefs  of  time  ; 

Yet  on  that  calm,  sad  brow  is  laid 

Of  wrong,  revenge,  remorse,  no  shade  ; 

Though  deeply  traced  are  sorrow's  lines, 


20  WOLFE   OF   THE   KNOLL. 

The  light  of  faith  still  clearly  shines. 
Most  like  a  child  who,  while  it  grieves, 
Still  in  a  father's  love  believes, 
The  old  man  seems  ;  and  as  the  child, 
To  free  its  sight,  doth  push  away 
The  ringlets  from  its  forehead  mild, 
So  throws  he  back  his  locks  of  gray, 
Then  searches  long  and  eagerly 
The  horizon  of  that  turbid  sea. 
With  footstep  hushed  and  pitying  eye 
The  shepherds  silent  pass  him  by, 
And  every  child  is  taught  to  show 
Meet  reverence  for  that  head  of  snow. 

Nor  first  this  eve  upon  that  hill 
The  aged  WOLFE  doth  watch,  but  still, 
Day  after  day,  his  stooping  form 
May  there  be  seen,  in  calm  and  storm, 
His  eye  turned  ever  to  the  sea, 
North,  west,  and  south,  untiringly. 


AMKOOM.  21 

No  rising  sun  but  finds  him  there, 

Nor  misses  him  the  evening  star, 

And  the  pale  moon  doth  nightly  shed 

Her  cold  light  on  his  frosted  head. 

First  when  the  pall  of  darkest  night 

Hath  fallen,  the  old  man  leaves  the  height. 

What  doth  he  there  ?     Hath  fancy  wrought 

Within  his  brain  some  strange  misthought  ? 

Is  it  some  vision  that  he  sees, 

A  phantom-child  of  mist  and  breeze  ? 

Ah,  no  !  he  waiteth  for  his  boy, 

The  island's  pride,  his  heart's  last  joy  ! 

Young  MELLEFF  was  as  brave  as  good, 
A  bolder  lad  ne'er  stemmed  the  flood. 
None  ventured  with  a  foot  so  free 
To  dare  the  treacherous  tide  as  he. 
When  winds  and  waves   the  islet  shook, 
His  arm  secured  the  trembling  flock. 
Nor  less  his  manly  heart  was  shown 


WOLFE   OF   THE    KNOLL. 

In  others'  need,  than  in  his  own, 
And  oft  admiring  neighbors  told, 
How  the  boy's  courage  saved  their  fold, 
But  long  ago  this  only  son 
A  shepherd's  for  a  sailor's  life 
Exchanged,  and  even  years  have  flown, 
Since  hope  and  fear,  in  ceaseless  strife, 
Within  the  parent's  heart  have  dwelt — 
Ye  know  that  grief  who  such  have  felt ! 
Once,  only,  tidings  had  been  brought, 
Tidings  with  hope  and  comfort  fraught ; 
The  youth  '  was  soon  to  sail  for  home, 
No  more  from  the  dear  sod  to  roam, 
Truth,  charity,  and  peace  were  there, 
The  world  without  was  cold  and  drear.' 
But  he  comes  not — the  mother  sleeps, 
Weary  with  watching,  in  the  grave, 
Yet  still  the  lonely  father  keeps 
His  eye  upon  the  distant  wave  ; 


AMEOOM.  23 


He  there  may  chance  a  ship  to  see, 
And  in  that  ship  his  child  may  be ! 

Old  HELDA,  widowed,  poor  and  weak, 
Was  wandering  on  that  beach,  to  seek 
For  sticks  to  light  her  evening  fire, 
When  she  beheld  the  anxious  sire 
Again  on  the  accustomed  hill. 
"  Thank  God  !  "  she  cried,  "  it  was  His  will 
To  grant  a  lot  less  hard  to  me, 
Than  this — year  after  year  to  be 
Mocked  by  vain  hopes  unceasingly. 
Better  to  know  my  children  rest 
With  God,  and  Christ,  and  angels  blest, 
And  to  live  calm  in  the  meek  trust 
To  join  them  when  this  frame  is  dust !  " 
Once  more  upon  the  down  she  cast 
Her  eyes,  but  night  was  gathering  fast ; 
"  God  help  him  !  "  then  her  old  lips  pray, 
And,  with  a  sigh,  she  turns  away. 


CANTO    II. 

TUNIS-THE-  WHITE. 

WHERE  lingers  the  son  of  the  cloudy  North  ! 
Hath  he  forgotten  the  home  of  his  birth  ? 
Careth  he  not  that  his  sire  hath  grown  gray 
With  watching  and  praying  by  night  and  by  day  1 
As  soon  shall  a  mother  forget  her  child 
As  the  wandering  boy  his  islet  wild, 
And  thoughts  of  the  eyes  that  wake  and  weep 
For  him,  hold  his  own  weary  lids  from  sleep. 
Thou,  thou  dost  keep  him,  0  marvellous  land 
Of  the  sourceless  river,  the  boundless  sand  ! 
Visions  of  Amroom — home  yearnings  are  vain  ! 
Fast,  fast  is  he  bound  by  the  captive's  chain. 


TUNIS-THE-WHITE.  25 

On  Tunis  bright  the  sunbeams  fall, 
Where,  girded  by  her  double  wall, 
She  sits  a  queen,  upon  whose  brow 
A  thousand  flashing  crescents  glow, 
Forming  a  diadem  to  vie 
With  Maia's  crown  that  flames  on  high. 
,  Goodly,  without,  her  vesture  shows — 
Scarce  purer  white  the  mountain-snows. 
Who  saw  her  thus,  in  royal  state, 
Kissed  by  the  bounding  wave  so  free, 
Even  lovely  Venice  might  forget, 
And  hail  her  there,  '  Bride  of  the  Sea  !  ' 
Fair  are  her  minarets  and  towers, 
Her  rosy  gardens,  viny  bowers  ; 
Her  fountains  gush  as  clear  and  cold 
As  ever  naiad's  source  of  old, 
And  softer  murmurs  than  they  shed 
Rose  not  from  fond  Alpheus'  bed, 
When  Arethusa  stooped  to  lave 

Her  tender  limbs  in  his  bright  wave. 

2 


26  WOLFE   OF   THE   KNOLL. 

Her  marts  are  heaped  with  merchandise, 
Such  as  the  gorgeous  East  supplies  ; 
Buyers  and  sellers  throng  her  gates, 
And  at  her  feet  a  navy  waits. 

But  now  half-silent  are  her  streets, 

So  fearfully  the  noontide  beats 

On  the  white  arches,  whose  fierce  glare 

Scorches  the  eye ;  the  burning  air 

Is  choked  with  sand  the  Khamseen  *  brings 

Upon  its  swift  and  dreadful  wings. 

Within  their  halls  the  rich  repose, 

Their  vacant  shops  the  salesmen  close. 

But  the  poor  Jiammal  j  bendcth  still 

Beneath  his  load  ;  the  sakkas  J  fill 


*  Khamseen — from  khamsoon,  fifty — is  the  name  usually  given  to  a 
strong  south  wind  which  blows  throughout  northern  Africa,  and  especially 
in  the  valley  of  the  Nile,  at  intervals  through  a  period  of  about  fifty  days 
in  the  months  of  April,  May,  and  June. 

t  Hammal,  the  Arabic  word  for  porter ;  a  very  important  class  of 
laborers  in  Oriental  cities,  where  wheel-carriages  are  not  used. 

\  Sakka,  a  water-carrier.    See  Appendix  III. 


TUNIS-TIIE-WHITE.  27 

Their  water-skins  afresh,  while  some 
Offer  free  draughts  to  all  who  come, 
In  name  of  the  good  Moslem  soul 
Whose  bounty  fills  the  brimming  bowl. 
The  patient  -ass,  that  none  will  spare, 
His  crushing  burden  still  must  bear 
Through  the  close  lanes,  while  curses  sore 
The  jostled  passers  on  him  pour. 
These  may  not  choose,  they  may  not  rest ; 
Though  faint  with  heat,  with  hunger  pressed, 
The  poor,  the  brute,  must  toil  or  feel 
From  want  or  violence  sharper  ill. 

Fanned  by  his  slaves,  the  lordly  Bey 

On  Persian  mats  soft  dreaming  lay. 

Spacious  the  court  and  cool  the  air, 

A  thousand  jets  were  playing  there, 

Breathing  a  low  and  hushing  sound 

More  calm  than  silence  ;  all  around 

Choice  flowers  their  fairest  bloom  were  spreading, 


28  WOLFE    OF   THE   KNOLL. 

Through  marble  halls  their  perfume  shedding ; 

And  panting  birds  were  flocking  there, 

The  freshness,  without  fear,  to  share  ; 

For  wrell  the  happy  warblers  know 

The  Prophet's  follower  ne'er,  their  foe.  • 

But  not  a  human  voice  was  heard, 

And  not  a  human  footstep  stirred. 

Silent  as  stone,  each  wratchful  slave 

Moved  but  the  ostrich  plume  to  wave ; 

So  deep  a  stillness  must  be  kept, 

To  guard  the  rest  of  him  that  slept ! 

But  hark  !  there  is  a  cry  without ! 
4  Allah  is  great ! '  the  faithful  shout. 
The  voice  of  triumph  in  the  street 
Starts  AALI  from  his  slumber  sweet. 
He  sends  a  slave  the  cause  to  learn — 
'Tis  for  the  corsair's  safe  return ; 
New  prizes  in  the  harbor  ride 
To  swell  Tunisia's  wealth  and  pride. 


TUNIS-THE-  WHITE.  29 

The  victors  towards  the  Casbah*  press, 
Cheered  by  the  joyful  populace. 
Only  last  moon,  like  birds  of  prey, 
On  rapid  wing  they  swept  away, 
And,  as  if  gifted  with  the  same 
Mysterious  sense  that  guideth  them 
Unfailing  where  their  victim  lies, 
Sudden  as  bolt  from  the  clear  skies, 
They  lighted  on  the  Franks  too  near 
A  Christian  shore  to  dream  of  fear. 

Their  chieftain  boasts  that  he  is  come 
Of  the  great  line  of  Khair-ed-deen,f 


*  The  Casbah  is  a  castellated  fortress  at  Tunis,  adjacent  to  which  is  the 
palace  of  the  Bey,  Dar  el  Bey,  and  it  gives  name  to  a  public  square  called 
the  "  Square  of  the  Casbah." 

t  Khair-ed-deen,  the  Excellence  of  the  Religion,  [of  Islam,']  generally 
known  to  Europeans  by  the  name  of  Barbarossa,  was  a  native  of  Mytilene, 
and  of  Moslem  birth  and  education,  as  appears  by  his  own  autobiography, 
and  not  a  renegade  as  he  has  usually  been  represented.  He  was  the  N'el- 
son  of  the  Ottoman  marine  in  the  sixteenth  century,  and  conquered  for  the 
Porte  the  regencies  of  Algiers  and  Tunis.  No  Turkish  maritime  com 
mander  has  ever  made  himself  so  formidable  to  the  Franks,  and  the  whole 
coast  of  Spain  and  Italy  was  in  a  perpetual  state  of  alarm  while  he  was  at 
the  head  of  the  Ottoman  navy. 


30  WOLFE   OF   THE   KNOLL. 

The  terror  once  of  Christendom, 

That  ne'er  a  bolder  foe  hath  seen  ; 

And  many  a  deed  of  blood  and  fire 

Have  proved  him  worthy  of  a  sire, 

Who  made  dread  Barbarossa's  name 

The  Paynim's  pride,  the  Christian's  shame. 

Yet  was  not  MURAD  merciless  ; 

Nor  poor  nor  stranger  would  oppress  ; 

Ne'er  lacked,  beneath  his  roof,  the  '  guest 

Of  God  invited '  *  food  or  rest. 

Five  times  a  day  with  zeal  he  prayed 

Toward  Mecca  bowed  his  shaven  head, 

Kept  fitting  fast,  and  freely  gave 

Whene'er  the  poor  an  alms  might  crave. 

Such  duties  did  he  ne'er  forget. 

Had  not  the  Prophet  clearly  set 

These  precepts  above  every  other — 

*  '  The  invited  of  God '  is  the  name  given  to  a  stranger  who  asks  hos- 
pitality.  When  a  traveller  approaches  an  encampment,  he  cries,  "  0  mas 
ter  of  the  tent !  Lo,  a  guest  invited  of  God  !  "  and  seldom  fails  to  receive 
the  attention  and  the  comforts  which  his  wants  require.  For  the  tradi 
tional  sayings  of  the  Prophet  on  this  subject,  see  Appendix  IV. 


TUNIS-TIIE-WHITE.  31 

Worship  to  God,  love  to  his  brother  ? 
But  Christians — was  it  not  as  plain 
That  they  were  infidels,  not  men, 
Not  brothers— rather  dogs,  indeed  ! 
Have  we  not  heard  as  strange  a  creed  ? 
When  late  an  iron  despot  raised 
His  arm,  to  crush  a  monarch  praised 
Of  all,  for  mild  and  liberal  laws, 
A  friend  to  every  generous  cause, 
Whose  empire's  gates  are  open  flung 
To  every  faith  and  every  tongue, 
From  our  free  land  a  chorus  burst 
To  cheer  the  tyrant's  deed  accursed. 
*  A  Christian  this,  a  Moslem  he, 
Can  need  of  further  witness  be  ? ' 
Vain  man  !  thus  ever,  to  thy  shame, 
Cheating  or  cheated  with  a  name  ! 
Think'st  thou  that  Paul  would  sooner  set 
Mary  o'er  CHRIST  than  Mahomet  ? 


32  WOLFE   OF   THE   KNOLL. 

But  now  too  long  the  corsair  waits 

For  audience  at  the  palace-gates. 

Behold  him  then  before  the  Bey, 

Greeting,  as  Moslem  subject  may, 

His  haughty  lord,  who  bids  him  tell 

How  he  hath  spoiled  the  infidel. 

Briefly  showed  Murad,  as  was  meet, 

That  he  had  seized  a  merchant-fleet 

Near  Sicily's  frequented  coast — 

'  Complete  the  triumph  that  we  boast, 

And  rich  the  booty  that  we  bear, 

Well  worthy  for  a  prince  to  share. 

The  slaves  are  countless — men  and  boys — 

They  stand  without,  and  wait  thy  choice.' 

"  Allah  is  great,  and  thou  art  brave," 
Eeplied  the  Bey,  and  signal  gave 
That,  score  by  score,  the  Christians  should 
Be  brought  before  him ;  as  they  stood, 
His  keen  eye  saw,  at  one  quick  glance, 


TIINIS-THE-WHITE.  33 

Of  a  large  ransom  what  the  chance, 
And  thus  he  chose — an  eighth  of  all 
By  law  doth  to  the  pacha  fall. 

But  who  shall  paint  the  captives'  woe — 
Anguish  that  words  are  vain  to  show  ! 

O 

Wouldst  thou  thy  curious  fancy  teach, 
The  means  are  not  beyond  thy  reach. 
Nor  need  imperial  Catharine  rise 
To  aid  the  artist's  hard  emprise. 
A  Christian  land  doth  furnish  forth 
The  spectacle  to  the  whole  earth, 
With  truth  more  awful  to  the  soul 
Than  to  the  ear  the  thunder-roll, 
When  to  the  skies  the  dreadful  blast 
The  frigate's  blazing  fragments  cast, 
Shadowing  to  Hackert's  wondering  sight 
The  horrors  of  the  Tchesmian  fight.* 


*  To  enable  Hackert  to  paint  more  truthfully  the  great  naval  victory 
won  by  the  Russian  fleet  over  the  Turkish  at  Tchesme  in  1770,  Admiral 
Orloff,  by  order  of  the  empress,  blew  up  a  Russian  frigate  off  Leghorn. 


34  WOLFE   OF  THE  KNOLL. 

-  Enough,  'twas  sad  those  Franks  to  see 
Fettered  before  the  Osmanli. 
Shame  and  despair  reigned  in  each  face, 
And  left  for  pride  but  little  place. 
Yet  Aali  spake  no  word  of  scorn  ; 
His  was  a  soul  too  nobly  born 
To  mock  the  grief  of  that  sad  throng, 
Though  conscience  charged  him  not  with  wrong. 
Nor  looked  he  there  a  tyrant  fierce, 
With  breast  that  pity  could  not  pierce, 
Nor  seemed  more  careless  of  distress 
Than  those  who  gentler  faith  profess. 
A  little  girl  upon  his  knee 
Was  leaning  lovingly  and  free  ; 
Too  tender  yet  her  age  to  learn 
Those  lessons  of  submission  stern, 
And  reverence,  that  the  law  requires, 
Of  Moslem  children  toward  their  sires  ; 
Nor  veil  nor  lattice  yet  control 
The  freedom  of  her  joyous  soul. 


TTTNIS-THE-WIHTE.'  35 

See  !  the  proud  pacha's  hand  is  laid 
As  fondly  on  his  daughter's  head 
As  ever  Christian  father  mild 
Hath  rested  his  upon  his  child. 
And  ne'er  did  opening  flower  disclose, 
Since  Chaucer  saw  his  budding  rose 
So  rich  in  beauty  and  perfume, 
The  promise  of  a  fairer  bloom, 
Than  even  the  careless  eye  must  trace- 
In  EATMEH'S  childish  form  and  face. 
Her  large  black  eye  with  its  clear  ray 
Spoke  of  near  kinship  to  the  Bey, 
Yet  tempered  were  its  rising  flashes 
By  the  long  drooping  silken  lashes, 
That  o'er  those  orbs  transparent  hung, 
And  down  their  trembling  shadows  flung, 
Like  willow-boughs  that  fringe  a  lake, 
And  its  pure  sheen  less  dazzling  make. 
The  ebon  arches  o'er  them  bent 
Were  true  as  Giotto's  hand  could  paint. 


WOLFE   OF   THE   KNOLL. 

In  her  dark,  heavy  tresses  shone 

A  burnished  light,  as  if  the  sun 

Had  softly  kissed  the  glossy  hair, 

And  left  his  golden  radiance  there ; 

Proving  that  gleam,  so  strange  inwrought 

In  the  deep  twilight  of  her  braids, 

From  a  Circassian  mother  caught, 

With  curls  as  bright  as  Saxon  maids. 

But  she  is  gone  ;  the  fairy  child, 

Half  passionate,  half  angel-mild, 

No  kin  doth  know,  save  him  who  now 

So  gently  smooths  her  snowy  brow. 

And  next  an  ancient  nurse  she  loves, 

And  then  her  song-birds,  flowers  and  doves, 

At  first  she  little  marks  the  crowd 

Of  captives  chained  and  sorrow-bowed, 

(For  she  was  wont  from  infancy 

The  witness  of  such  scenes  to  be,) 

And  with  impatience  ill-repressed, 

Waits  for  the  troop  to  be  dismissed, 


TUNIS-THE-WHITE.  37 

That  she  may  fill  the  pacha's  ear 

With  prattle  fathers  love  to  hear. 

But  as  the  Bey,  with  rapid  sign, 

Drew  one  by  one  from  the  sad  line 

For  his  own  thrall,  a  look  she  cast 

Curious,  scarce  pitying,  as  they  passed, 

Until  her  full  dilating  gaze 

A  sudden  earnestness  betrays  ; 

For  lo,  a  youth  with  sunny  locks, 

And  eyes  whose  humid  azure  mocks 

The  dewy  violet's  purest  shade, 

Attracts  the  wondering  little  maid. 

Of  bearing  bold,  of  stature  high, 

With  sword-cuts  fresh  on  brow  and  breast, 

Though  sorrow  dimmed  his  dreamy  eye, 

His  manly  lip  was  firm  comprest. 

Oft  from  old  GERDA  had  she  heard, — 

And  much  the  tale  her  fancy  stirred, — 

That  in  the  cold  and  distant  North, 

Land  of  her  foster-mother's  birth, 
2* 


38  WOLFE   OF  THE  KNOLL. 

Were  men  as  any  maiden  fair, 

With  ruddy  cheeks  and  golden  hair, 

And  eyes  whose  depths  of  cloudless  "blue 

Might  rival  Afric's  sky  in  hue, 

Yet  never  form  of  grander  mould 

Than  theirs,  nor  heart  more  true  and  bold. 

No  sooner  did  her  quick  eye  fall 

Upon  the  prisoner  fair  and  tall, 

Than  straight  she  thinks  of  Gerda's  home, 

And  questions  if  he  thence  doth  come, 

Nor  rests,  till  with  sweet  childhood's  art, 

She  has  learned  all  they  can  impart. 

'  The  Christian  youth  was  from  the  North, 

Mclleff  his  name  ; '  she  rushes  forth 

To  tell  her  nurse,  with  thoughtless  joy, 

Of  the  strange  blue-eyed  captive  boy. 


JLibrat 

°f  Collfornl* 


CANTO    III. 

THE  TIDINGS. 

ON  Amroom  are  sunshine  and  summer  to-day, 
And  it  seems  less  lone  and  drear ; 

The  islanders  gather  in  heaps  their  hay, 
Their  hope  for  the  coming  year. 

And  father  and  mother  and  youth  and  maid, 

All  join  in  the  common  toil ; 
Earnest  their-  work  and  the  words  that  are  said, 

Mirth  flies  from  so  rude  a  soil. 

And  ever  a  shadow  yet  graver  still 
O'er  each  laborer's  face  doth  pass, 

As  he  sendeth  a  glance  toward  yonder  hill 
Where  shivers  the  tufted  grass. 


4:0  WOLFE   OF   THE   KNOLL. 

There,  seemingly  heedless  of  all  around, 

With  the  sea-damps  on  his  cheek, 
Stands  Wolfe — lo,he  turns  toward  the  new-mown  ground, 

And  beckons  as  he  would  speak  ! 


"  To-morrow's  the  sabbath,  the  day  of  rest," 

Said  the  old  man  grave  and  mild, 
"  Your  hay,  if  with  sunshine  again  we're  blest, 

Will  make  as  it  lieth  piled. 

"  Ye  may  sleep  to-night  without  care  or  fear ; 

I  will  watch  the  wind  and  tide  ; 
Should  they  threaten  your  harvest,  ye  shall  hear 

My  warning  echo  wide." 

The  labor  is  ended,  and  one  by  one 

They  go  to  their  quiet  homes  ; 
From  the  snowy  flocks  each  calleth  his  own, 

Ere  the  misty  darkness  comes. 


THE   TIDINGS. 

Then  climbing  the  mound  that  lifteth  their  cot 
From  the  low  and  tide-washed  sward, 

At  peace  with  themselves,  and  blessing  their  lot, 
They  draw  round  the  evening  board. 

Though  coarse  the  loaf  that  is  broken  here, 

And  it  formeth,  day  by  day, 
With  curds  from  the  flock,  their  only  cheer 

Yet  murmur  nor  want  know  they. 

Now  meekly,  but  clear,  from  each  lowly  shed 
Ascendeth  the  hymn,  and  the  prayer  ; 

The  simple  rite  done,  and  the  '  good-night '  said, 
The  household  to  rest  doth  repair. 

And  well  may  they  slumber,  so  deep  the  repose 

For  there  is  nor  sight  nor  sound, 
Save  the  moon  above,  that  so  ruddy  rose, 

And  the  sea  low  moaning  round. 


42 


WOLFE   OF  THE  KNOLL. 


But  while  those  evening  hymns  were  sent 
Heavenward,  one  voice  of  deep  lament 
And  supplication  from  that  sod 
Wailed  upward  to  the  throne  of  God. 
WOLFE  OF  THE  KNOLL  upon  the  shore, 
With  searching  eye,  was  seen  no  more ; 
No  more  upon  the  fitful  breeze 
His  locks  of  silver  rose  and  fell, 
Restless  as  on  those  heaving  seas 
The  crested  billows  sink  and  swell. 
The  promised  watchman  of  the  night, 
That  late  stood  calm  on  yonder  height, 
Now  on  his  lowly  pallet  lies 
With  breaking  heart  and  burning  eyes. 
This  eve  the  fatal  tidings  gave 
That  MellefF  was  the  heathen's  slave. 
The  pastor,  first  to  learn,  must  show 
The  hapless  father  all  his  woe. 


THE   TIDINGS.  43 

Dread  task  !  and  now  in  vain  he  tries 
To  assuage  that  grief- — the  old  man  cries  : 
"  Nay,  leave  me  here  with  God  alone, 
Till  I  can  say,  '  His  will  be  done  ! '" 


The  dawn  is  cloudless,  the  summer-sun  shines 

Again  on  the  grateful  isle  ; 
They  may  leave  their  hay  till  the  day  declines, 

To  worship  their  God,  the  while. 

And  early  they  gather,  with  willing  feet, 

At  their  humble  place  of  prayer  ; 
In  simple  attire,  and  with  reverence  meet, 

The  old  and  the  young  are  there. 

The  service  is  read,  and  the  preacher  takes 

The  word  that  they  wait  to  hear — 
Hark  !  whence  is  the  threatening  sound  that  breaks 

From  without  on  his  startled  ear  ? 


WOLFE   OF  THE   KNOLL. 

"  My  children,  God  sendeth  the  flood  !  away, 

And  secure  your  winter  store  ! 
His  blessing  be  with  you — we'll  meet  to  pray 

Again  when  our  work  is  o'er." 

They  fly  to  the  meadows  ;  the  tide  swells  fast, 
But  something  there's  time  to  save  ! 

The  share  of  their  faithful  pastor,  at  least, 
They'll  snatch  from  the  greedy  wave. 

In  vain  he  urgeth  to  care  for  their  own, 
The  strength  of  his  well-tried  arm, — 

For  no  !  they  will  toil  in  his  field  alone, 
Till  its  math  is  safe  from  harm. 

Must  the  rest  be  lost  ?  strain  every  nerve, 

For  the  hungry  wave  is  nigh ! 
Brief  is  the  moment,  yet  still  it  may  serve 

How  from  heap  to  heap  they  fly ! 


THE  TIDINGS.  45 

And  higher,  still  higher,  upon  the  land 

Doth  the  angry  ocean  chafe — 
With  a  smile  of  triumph  the  islanders  stand, 

Their  precious  harvest  is  safe ! 

O'er  the  meadows  a  briny  sea  doth  flow, 

But  baffled,  its  tides  decrease ; 
And  pastor  and  people  once  more  may  go 

To  the  house  of  God  in  peace. 

Again  they  are  taught  from  his  holy  word, 

Again  they  praise  and  they  pray, 
And  with  glowing  hearts  do  they  bless  the  Lord 

For  the  mercies  of  the  day. 

But  last,  and  earnester  still,  are  the  prayers 

That  they  for  the  father  pour — 
That  God  would  remember  his  hoary  hairs, 
And  his  captive  child  restore !  * 


*  Although  the  people  are  very  devout,  they  allow  themselves  to  be  in 
terrupted  even  in  divine  service  by  the  approach  of  a  tide  which  threatens 


•  WOLFE    OF   THE   KNOLL. 

The  holy  sabbath  rites  are  o'er, 
And  through  the  consecrated  door, 
With  voices  hushed,  the  shepherds  pour. 
The  weary  pastor,  only,  turns 
Not  homeward  yet  ;  his  spirit  yearns 
To  soothe  the  wretched  father  reft 
Of  the  last  hope  that  time  had  left. 
Still  in  the  narrow  porch  he  stands, 
His  eye  o'ersweeps  the  ebb-land  wide, 
Then  of  the  westering  sun  demands 
How  soon  returns  the  treacherous  tide. 
Another  hour — his  wary  foot 

their  hay-crop,  and  they  then  rush  to  the  fields  in  their  Sunday  garments. 
A  Hallig  preacher  told  me  he  had  once  just  began  his  sermon,  when  he 
observed  a  movement  in  the  congregation.  One  of  the  people  soon  came 
up  the  pulpit  steps,  and,  pulling  him  by  the  cassock,  whispered,  "  Pastor, 
the  water  is  coming  !  "  He  therefore  dismissed  the  congregation,  request 
ing  them  to  return  to  the  church  after  the  work  was  ended,  and  went  with 
them  to  the  meadows.  In  about  three  hours  they  secured  their  hay,  and 
met  again  at  the  church,  to  thank  God  for  the  saving  of  their  only  source 
of  income. 

In  the  island  of  Helgoland,  the  arrival  of  the  snipes  authorizes  the  in 
terruption  of  worship.  When  the  flocks  alight,  no  time  must  be  lost ;  and 
if  the  watchman  calls  at  the  church  door,  "  Herr,  pastor,  de  snipp  is  do  !  " 
"  Pastor,  the  snipes  are  here ! "  the  clergyman  breaks  off  the  service.— 
Kohl  Ins.  u.  Marsch.  I.  325. 


THE   TIDINGS.  47 

May  he  not  trust  upon  the  beach, 
That  leads  so  shortly  to  the  cot 
His  eager  heart  makes  haste  to  reach  ? 
He'll  swiftly  cross  the  waves'  dark  track, 
No  threatening  sea-mists  wrarn  him  back. 

The  doubtful  soil  he  now  doth  tread, 
So  late  the  refluent  ocean's  bed. 
What  change  was  here !  an  hour  before, 
No  sound  except  the  tide's  deep  roar, 
No  life  save  what  its  bosom  bore. 
Now  man's  weak  step  is  tracking  free 
The  footprints  of  the  mighty  sea ! 
A  thousand  channels,  pearled  with  foam, 
Are  rippling  toward  their  briny  home ; 
And  countless  forms  of  life,  sea-born, 
Left  by  their  parent  wave  forlorn, 
Lie  struggling  on  the  slimy  strand, 
Foes  gathering  fast  on  every  hand. 
With  a  sharp  cry  the  swooping  gull 


48  WOLFE   OF   THE   KNOLL. 

Drops  on  his  prey ;  in  the  still  pool 
Dips  the  sea-swallow  swift  and  light, 
Then  nestward  takes  his  happy  flight. 
The  rain-bird,  pressed  with  hunger  fell, 
Tears  the  poor  muscle  from  its  shell, 
And  still  new  flocks  are  hurrying  there, 
The  transitory  spoil  to  share. 
Far  to  the  west,  the  eye  may  mark 
Where,  leaning  low  upon  its  side, 
Lieth  the  fisher's  helpless  bark, 
And  passive  waits  the  coming  tide.* 

Full  oft  the  zealous  man  of  God 
That  wild  and  wasting  shore  has  trod, 
And  well  he  knows  each  changing  phase 
That  home  of  poverty  displays. 
Yet  doth  it  seem  as  strange  to-night, 
As  on  the  well-remembered  day, 
When  first  before  his  straining  sight 

*  Staring,  De  Bodem  van  Nederland,  I.  231,  gives  a  very  picturesque 
description  of  the  flats  at  low-tide. 


THE   TIDINGS.  49 

Its  dreamlike  desolation  lay. 

What  years  of  toil  and  sacrifice 

Between  him  and  that  moment  rise  !  * 

Yet  time  that  moment  doth  defy, 

A  fragment  of  eternity. 

As  then,  he  sees  the  eager  crowd, 

Half  hidden  by  a  misty  shrpud, 

In  costume  quaint,  press  to  the  beach  ; 

Once  more  the  friendly  hand  they  reach, 

Once  more,  with  childlike  speech  and  smile, 

They  bid  him  welcome  to  their  isle. 

He  sees  his  meek,  young  wife,  again 

Covered  with  changeful  blushes,  when 

They  hail  her  by  the  tender  name 

Of '  mother,'  f  and  her  blessing  claim. 

Now  to  the  cottage,  garnished  fair 

For  the  new  pastor,  they  prepare 

*  For  an  account  of  the  arrival  of  a  Hallig  preacher  in  his  parish  see 
Appendix  V. 

t  The  pastor's  wife  is  always  called  mother,  and  they  say  to  her,  "  We 
have  come  to  invite  mother  to  our  christening,  if  mother  has  no  objection." 


50  WOLFE   OF   THE   KNOLL. 

His  little  household  store  to  bear, 
And  now  his  willing  feet  they  guide 
To  the  near  church,  their  only  pride. 
Once  more,  from  that  same  chapel  mound, 
He  marks  the  dreary  prospect  round, 
With  anxious  heart  and  wondering  eye. 
Here  must  he  live — perhaps  must  die. 

But  o'er  his  thoughts  thus  backward  cast, 
Behold,  a  sudden  change  hath  past, 
For,  by  the  law  mysterious  led 
That  links  extremes,  his  fancy  flies 
From  the  low  flats  around  him  spread, 
To  lands  where  mountains  pierce  the  skies. 
The  everlasting  Alps  she  shows 
Shaking  from  their  o'erburdened  brows 
The  crushing  avalanche,  that  falls 
In  thunder  down  their  rocky  walls. 
She  pointeth  from  the  idle  boat 
To  the  bold  hunter,  whose  winged  foot 
Pursues  the  chamois'  headlong  flight, 


THE   TIDINGS.  51 

O'er  rock  and  rift,  from  height  to  height. 

The  tangled  sea-grass,  coarse  and  dank, 

Is  lost  in  flowery  meadows  bright ; 

No  more  a  gray  horizon  blank, 

But  fringing  forests,  bound  his  sight. 

The  turbid  channel's  bitter  stream 

Hath  vanished  in  that  happy  dream, 

And  lo,  before  the  \vanderer 's  soul 

Sweet  floods  of  living  crystal  roll, 

And  laughing  cataracts  madly  leap; 

Girt  with  a  rainbow,  down  the  steep, 

From  crag  to  crag — such  as  with  joy 
To  fulness  blessed  him,  when  a  boy. — 
That  boyhood,  with  its  dear  delights, 
The  days  half  labor  and  half  play, 

The  fireside  full  that  crowned  the  nights 

The  starting  tear  he  cannot  stay, 
So  plain  he  sees  the  loving  forms 
That  blessed  him,  when  he  turned  away 
To  seek  this  cheerless  isle  of  storms. 


52  WOLFE   OF   THE   KNOLL. 

Hark  !  dost  not  hear  the  hoarse  wave  break 
Upon  the  shore  ?  wake,  dreamer,  wake  ! 
He  starts,  as  from  a  heavy  sleep ; 
He  sees  the  broadening  channels  deep 
Weaving  full  fast  their  watery  net 
Around  his  thoughtless,  lagging  feet. 
Then  shot  an  icy  shudder  through 
His  frame — '  wife,  children,  leave  them  so, 
Alone  upon  this  wretched  sod  ! 
Can  this  be,  then,  thy  will,  O  God  1 ' 
A  moment  brief,  with  horror  fraught, 
Flashed  by,  then  came  a  calmer  thought ; 
'  He  that  hath  made  can  still  sustain, 
Nor  needs  thy  aid,  O  mortal  vain ! ' 
His  heart  grows  still,  the  dread  is  past, 
Fear's  palsying  fetters  broken  through ; 
Toward  the  near  cot  he  boundeth  fast, 
And  fast  the  hissing  waves  pursue. 
In  vain — they  cannot  reach  him  now  ! 
High  on  the  cottage-mound  he  stands, 


THE   TIDINGS.  53 

Wipes  the  thick  drops  from  his  hot  brow, 
And  lifts  to  Heaven  his  trembling  hands. 
Yet  from  his  lips  no  sound  there  fell — 
What  words  for  such  a  moment  meet, 
When  the  whole  heart  doth  upward  swell, 
In  one  full  cloud  of  incense  sweet ! 
One  backward  glance  he  shrinking  cast 
Upon  the  fearful  peril  past,* 
Then,  turning  to  the  roof  of  thatch, 
He  slowly  lifts  the  simple  latch. 

O,  grief !  whose  heart  is  then  so  clean, 
Whose  hands  in  innocence  so  washed, 
That  he  thy  sacred  form  hath  seen, 
And  stood  before  thee  unabashed  ! 
To  thy  great  altar  who  dares  bring, 
For  offering,  an  unholy  thing  ! 


*  When  the  tide  returns  suddenly,  persons  walking  on  the  flats  during 
the  ebb  are  exposed  to  be  cut  off  from  the  islands  and  drowned.  Distress 
ing  accidents  of  this  kind  are  not  unfrequent. 


54:  AVOLFE    OF   THE   KNOLL. 

Only  the  soul's  best  gifts  can  meet 
Acceptance  at  thine  awful  feet. 

So  felt  the  pastor,  as  he  stood 

Speechless  beside  the  man  of  woe, 

And  grasped  his  withered  hand,  nor  could 

The  sympathetic  tear  forego. 

On  those  three  friends  of  old  he  thought, 

Whose  seven  days'  silence  better  spake 

Than  all  the  empty  words  they  brought, 

Which  did  but  keener  anguish  wake. 

God's  voice  alone  such  sorrow  hears ; 

Of  man,  it  asks  not  truths,  but  tears. 

He  lifts  a  silent  prayer  on  high — 

Lo,  suddenly  the  stricken  sire 

Looks  up,  his  pale  lips  part,  his  eye 

Doth  burn,  as  with  a  prophet's  fire, 

And  his  full  words  swell,  clear  and  strong, 

As  chorus  of  triumphal  song. 


THE   TIDINGS.  55 

"  The  Lord  will  surely  visit  him, 
And  bring  back  his  captivity  ! 
Yea,  though  these  eyes  with  age  are  dim, 
They  shall  this  great  salvation  see !  " 


CANTO    IV. 

• 

THE  HAREEM. 

THANK  God,  the  lingering  sun  hath  set  at  last ! 

The  daily  task  is  o'er  ; 
Another  long,  long  day  of  exile  past ! 

Oh,  that  there  were  no  more  ! 

What  though  yon  glorious  western  sky  doth  blaze 

With  purple,  gold,  and  green, 
While  the  east  trembles  with  those  opal  rays 

By  northern  eyes  unseen  ! 

What  though  from  the  transparent  heavens  so  clear 

The  stars  are  stooping  low  ! 
The  greeting  of  their  smile,  that  comes  so  near, 

Seems  but  to  mock  my  woe. 


THE   HAKEEM.  57 

Ye  northern  skies,  your  light  is  gray  and.  cold, 

But  dearer  far  to  me 
Than  all  the  splendors  that  I  now  behold 

In  heaven,  earth,  air  and  sea  ! 

Thou  isle,  where  innocence  and  peace  so  long 

Have  kept  their  holiest  rest, 
Forgive  me  that,  a  child,  I  did  thee  wrong, 

Asking  a  soil  more  blest ! 

Oft  by  some  stinted  shrub  1  pensive  stood, 

And  dreamed  of  giant  trees 
That  proudly  soared  aloft,  and  swung  abroad 

Their  branches  to  the  breeze. 

Now  o'er  my  head  a  leafy  roof  doth  rise 

For  sinless  Eden  meet, 
Dropping  its  golden  fruit  as  from  the  skies, 

In  clusters  at  my  feet. 
3* 


58  WOLFE   OF   THE   KNOLL. 

But  one  poor  bush  that  decks  our  cottage-mound, 

My  mother's  constant  care, 
Than  all  these  palms  with  grace  and  beauty  crowned, 

Were  to  my  eye  more  fair. 

Here  brightly  blooming  flowers  of  countless  dyes 

Wide  gardens  gayly  paint ; 
Sadly  I  view  them  with  unjoying  eyes, 

Till  with  their  perfume  faint. 

Oh,  give  me  but  for  these  the  pale  wild  rose 

Found  once  in  many  a  day 
Among  our  downs,  in  some  deep  fold  hid  close, 

Where  childhood  loved  to  stray. 

Cease,  cease  thy  mournful  plaint,  O  nightingale, 

Singing  in  yonder  tree  ! 
Not  half  so  dear  thy  song  as  the  familiar  wail 

Of  my  own  native  sea. 


THE    HAKEEM.  59 

Ye  sparkling  fountains,  that  with  patient  flow 

Feed  all  these  shining  rills, 
Your  ceaseless  murmur,  melancholy,  low, 

My  soul  with  anguish  fills. 

For  in  your  voice  I  hear  the  unending  moan 

Of  father,  mother  mild, 
Who  now  sit  broken-hearted  and  alone, 

Despairing  for  their  child. 

O  God  !  and  must  I  never  more  behold 

My  blessed  island  home ! 
Ne'er  comfort  more  my  parents  now  grown  old 

With  waiting  till  I  come  ! 

Last  night  methought  my  mother  softly  pressed 

Her  hand  upon  my  head ; 
She  looked  not  sad,  but  on  her  lips  did  rest 

The  smile  worn  by  the  dead. 


60  WOLFE   OF   THE   KNOLL. 

O  mother,  mother,  if  thou  dost  indeed 

Stand  by  the  throne  of  God, 
From  thy  poor  captive  child,  with  Him,  oh,  plead, 

That  He  will  take  life's  load  ! 

Such  were  the  thoughts  that  shook  the  breast 

Of  Melleff  as  he  sat  at  rest, 

Leaning  against  a  stately  palm 

In  the  soft  twilight's  hallowed  calm. 

Within  the  garden  he  had  toiled 

All  day,  and  now  from  work  assoiled, 

His  whole  soul  flies  to  the  far  north, 

To  the  dear  sod  that  gave  him  birth. 

His  lieart  no  hope  of  ransom  cheers, 

Full  well  he  knows  if  parents'  tears 

Could  pay  the  price,  he  soon  were  free. 

But  ah,  their  fatal  poverty  ! 

Daughter  of  wealth  !  a  moment  stay, 
Ere  to  the  dance  thou  haste  away ! 


THE   HAKEEM.  61 

One  little  stone  that  none  would  miss 
From  the  bright  band  that  clasps  thy  hair- 
So  many  more  are  shining  there — 
Would  lightly  purchase  all  the  bliss 
Of  home  and  freedom  for  the  boy, 
And  fill  his  father's  house  with  joy. 
Thou  canst  not  give  it  ?  go  thy  way, 
Tread  fast  the  festive  measure  gay, 
Yet  oh  !  look  to  thy  soul,  ere  He, 
The  prisoner's  friend,  in  anger  says, 
"  What  thou  didst  not  for  one  of  these 
That  didst  thou  also  not  for  me ! " 

From  the  proud  Christian  maiden's  frown, 
To  misbelieving  Fatmeh  turn, 
Who,  from  the  lattice  of  her  bower, 
Observes  the  captive  at  this  hour 
So  woful  sad.     "  Gerda,"  she  cries, 
With  look  and  tone  that  speak  surprise, 
"  Why  doth  the  Christian  slave  still  weep  ? 


62       .  WOLFE    OF    THE    KNOLL. 

Doth  Mustapha,  then,  fail  to  keep 

My  father's  oft  enjoined  behest, 

That  he  should  lack  nor  food  nor  rest  ? 

Thou,  too,  when  first  the  tale  I  told 

Of  Melloff  and  his  hair  of  gold, 

And  thou  didst  go  to  prove  my  word, 

With  pity  deep  thy  heart  seemed  stirred, 

Nor  from  thy  questions  couldst  thou  leave  ; 

Wherefore  now  suffer  him  to  grieve  1 " 

Not  southern  night,  descending  fast, 
Could  shade  so  dark  and  sudden  cast 
As  o'er  old^Gerda's  features  passed — 
Then  with  a  sigh,  she  answered  grave, 
f'  Tears  are  the  pastime  of  the  slave  !  " 

Young  Fatmeh  on  her  face  still  gazed, 
With  questioning  eye  and  thought  amazed. 
"  Do  all  slaves  weep  ?  "  at  length  she  cried ; 
"  Not  all  " — the  aged  nurse  replied, 


THE    HAKEEM.  63 

"  For  some  so  long  have  worn  the  chain, 
And  sighed  and  wept  and  prayed  in  vain 
For  freedom,  home  and  friends,  that  they 
At  last  grown  helpless,  old  and  gray, 
Dry  joyfully  each  burning  tear 
To  see  the  welcome  grave  so  near." 

The  loving  child  her  white  arms  flung 
Around  her  nurse,  and  sobbing  hung 
On  her  old  neck — "  Say,  Gerda,  say, 
Wouldst  thou  thy  Fatmeh  leave  to-day 
For  home  and  friends  so  far  away  1  " 

"  Child  of  my  soul ;  *  nay  !  for  I've  none. 
Those  that  I  loved  are  long  forgone. 
For  all  the  North  hath  left,  thy  kiss, 
My  gentle  child,  I  would  not  miss. 
Of  all  my  kin,  a  single  heart 
Still  beats,  and  his  a  bitter  part — 

*  A  common  Oriental  epithet  for  an  adopted  child. 


WOLFE   OF   THE   KNOLL. 

Or  do  I  dream — so  far  from  youth 
And  joy  removed  that  dreams  seem  truth ! 
But  such  sad  talking  let  us  leave — 
I  promised  thee  a  tale  this  eve." 

"  First  from  my  hair  these  pearls  unbind ; 
Thou  say'st  they  are  of  wealth  untold  ; 
In  the  bazaars,  couldst  thou  not  find 
One  that  for  them  would  give  me  gold  1 " 

"  Thou  hast  thy  mother's  heart,  fond  child  ! 
But  speak  no  more,  thy  thought  is  wild. 
List  to  me,  rather,  while  I  tell 
What  once  an  Arab  maid  befell." 

"  Nay,  Gerda  !  but  when  late  we  passed 
Where  o'er  the  dead  the  aloe  blooms, 
While  they  beneath  are  sleeping  fast — 
Thou  bad'st  me  mark,  among  the  tombs, 
One  called  the  Christian  lady's  grave — 
Now  tell  me,  was  she,  too,  a  slave  ? " 


THE  HAKEEM.  65 


THE  TOMB  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  PRINCESS.* 

Long  ago  a  noble  lady  dwelt  in  furthest  Frankistan, 

Of  whose  wondrous  beauty  tidings  to  remotest  kingdoms 

ran ; 

Princes  sued  her  royal  father  for  his  peerless  daughter's  hand 
All  in  vain ;  the  heart-  free  Ellen  would  not  hear  of  marriage- 
band. 

Once  adown  the  garden  walked  she,  fresh  as   Emily  the 

bright 
Seen,  as  chants  the  English  rhymer,  for  the  first  time  by 

Arcite ; 
And,  like  her,  she  plucked  the  roses,  ere  the  sun  had  kissed 

away 
Half  the  tears  they  shed  in  darkness  for  the  absent  lord  of 

day. 


*  "  The  Tomb  of  the  Christian  Princess"  is  founded  on  a  popular  legend 
related  by  Prax  in  the  Revue  de  V  Orient,  for  November,  1849. 


66  WOLFE   OF   THE   KNOLL. 

Through  the  leafy  aisles  she  floated,  checking  her  own  carol 
sweet, 

While  the  morning  hymn  of  nature  rose  so  holy  and  com 
plete  ; 

And  with  such  a  smile  she  listened  to  each  silvery-warbling 
bird, 

Well  it  seemed  she  knew  the  meaning  of  the  joyous  notes 
she  heard. 

Now  the  outer  wall  she  reaches,  where  so  close  the  ivy  clings, 
But  a  garland  scarcely  snatches,  ere  a  wicket  open  swings, 
And  a  wretched  troop,  whose  ankles  bear  the  badge  of 

heaviest  woe, 
Through  the  gateway  roughly  driven,  to  their  daily  task- 

work  go. 

All  unseen  the  princess  glided  to  the  laurel's  thickest  shade, 
On  the  turbaned  captives  gazing,  half  with  wonder,  half 
afraid. 


THE   HAKEEM.  6 

Long  she  stands,  as  if  enchanted — what  has  wrought  that 

sudden  spell  ? 
In  her  eye  are  love  and  pity — is  it  Freya's  miracle  1  * 

Toward  the  palace  then  she  turned  her,  but  with  languid  foot 

and  slow, 
Minding  now  nor  bird  nor  blossom,  nor  the  bees  that  mur 

mur  low. 
Some  new  thought  her  soul  oppresses — how  an  hour  hath 

changed  that  face ! 
Late  there  shone  but  careless  pleasance,  now  misease  usurps 

its  place. 

Paler  grew  the  gentle  Ellen  as  the  listless  days  rolled  by, 
Till  the  sad  cheer  of  his  daughter  caught  the  troubled  father's 

eye. 
"  Say,  my  child,  what  is't  that  grieves  thee  ?  where  the  glad 

some  step  and  smile, 
With  which  thou  wert  wont  to  meet  me,  and  my  weary 

cares  beguile  ? 

*  In  the  Scandinavian  mythology,  Freya  is  the  goddess  of  love. 


68  WOLFE    OF   THE   KNOLL. 

"  Weep  not  for  me,  loving  father,  but  so  thickly  comes  my 

breath, 
On  my  heart  is  such  a  pressure — it  must  be  the  hand  of 

death  ! 

Ere  I  go,  one  boon  I  pray  thee,  for  the  love  thou  bearest  me, 
For  the  sake  of  blessed  Mary,  set  thy  Moorish  captives  free ! 

"  There  is  one  they  call  Abdallah,  royal  is  his  step  and  eye — 
Once  he  was  the  lord  of  Tunis,  thou  hast  marked  his  bearing 

high, 
And  hast  read  in  every  gesture,  he  was  Allah's  slave,  not 

thine — 
When  I  lie  beside  my  mother,  give  him  from  my  hand  this 

line." 

And  the  sleep  no  sorrow  breaketh  then  the  lovely  Ellen  slept, 

And  the  promise  made  her  dying  faithfully  the  father  kept. 

Soon  the  Arabs  o'er  the  desert  their  fleet  steeds  are  spur 
ring  fast, 

High  the  yellow  sand-clouds  tossing,  like  the  Simoom's 
smothering  blast. 


THE   HAKEEM.  69 

But  before  the  prince  Abdallah  sought  again  his  native  land, 
He  had  read  the  faint  lines  written  by  the  passing  maiden's 

hand. 
"  f  have  loved  thee,  noble  stranger,  but  not  better  than  my 

faith, 
Lo  the  proof !    I  give  thee  freedom,  and  remain  alone  with 

death." 

"  Go  thou  to  the  tomb  that  holds  me,  from  my  hand  a  casket 

take, 
And  the  jewels  that  thou  findest — for  the  Christian  princess' 

sake — 
Buy  with  them  the  Christian  captives  that  among  thy  people 

mourn ; 
Let  them  to  their  home  and  kindred  and  their  fathers'  God 

return ! " 

Straight  he  seeks  the  narrow  chamber,  sacred  to  fair  Ellen's 

rest; 
But  what  tongue  may  speak  the  wonder  that  affrays  his 

startled  breast ! 


•u  WOLFF:  OF  THE  KNOLL. 

There  no  Christian  maid  reposes,  but  a  Moslem  stiff  and  cold, 
And  a  rosary  wrought  in  Mecca  fast  the  rigid  fingers  hold.* 

As    he   stood   amazed,    bewildered,  words    that   came   not 

through  the  ear 
To  Abdallah's  soul  were  whispered,  "  Take  the  chaplet,  do 

not  fear  !  " 
Hastily  the  beads  he  snatches  from  the  dead  man's  grasp, 

and  flies, 
On  the  pinions  love  had  furnished,  to  the  land  of  cloudless 

skies. 

Soon  he  trod  the  streets  of  Tunis—but'  she  knew  her  lord 

no  more — 
And  to  Zei tun's  mosque  he  hastened,  Allah's  Oneness  to 

adore. 

As  he  stooped,  the  dusty  sandal  at  the  sacred  door  to  leave, 
Suddenly  a  hand  ungentle  seized  him  rudely  by  the  sleeve. 

*  The  Mohammedan  uses  a  rosary  in  enumerating  the  repetitions  oc 
curring  in  his  prayers.  This  rosary  is  composed  of  ninety-nine  beads  ol 
wood,  coral,  or  seeds,  and  is  separated  into  three  equal  divisions  by  other 
beads  of  a  peculiar  form. 


THE   HAREEM.  71 

"  Whence  hast  thou  that  chaplet,  stranger  ?  by  the  Pro 
phet's  head  I  swear, 

'Tis  my  father's — tombs  to  rifle,  misbeliever,  dost  thou 
dare  ?  " 

To  the  judge  they  drag  Abdallah  ;  straight  the  cadi  gives 
command 

To  undo  the  vault  sepulchral,  and  around  the  grave  they 
stand, 

But  fall  back  in  speechless  terror — there,  instead  of  Moslem 

shorn, 

Lieth  calm  a  smiling  lady,  fair  as  Houri  heavenly  born  ! 
fn  her  hand  she  held  a  casket,  and  her  face  shone  like  the 

day 
For  a  moment  when  Abdallah  gently  took  the  trust  away. 

Long  he  listened  hoping,  praying,  for  some  sound  of  coming 

breath, 
But  in  vain — fair  was  the  sleeper,  yet  she  slept  the  sleep  of 

death. 


72  WOLFE   OF   THE   KNOLL. 

Soft  he  spread  the  turf  above  her,  set  the  aloe  on  her  breast — 
'  Had  not  Moonkir  shown  her  favor,  since  he  brought  her 
there  to  rest  ? ' 

Then  Abdallah  did  her  bidding,  and  the  Christian  slaves  dis 
missed  ; 

Yet  through  life  he  left  not  weeping  for  the  love  he  so  had 
missed. 

Twice  two  hundred  times  the  date-tree  proud  hath  donned 
her  ruby  crown, 

Since  beside  the  stranger-lady,  old  and  worn  he  laid  him  down. 

Still  the  story  is  remembered,  and  they  say  the  princess  lies 
All  unchanged  in  her  first  beauty,  but  secure  from  mortal  eyes. 
From  the  tomb  a  light  proceedeth,  that  would  blind  with 

deadly  pain, 
Such   as  guards  the  Prophet's  daughter  from  the   gazer's 

glance  profane.* 

*  A  common  superstition  among  the  Mohammedans  ascribes  this 
miraculous  power,  not  only  to  the  tomb  of  the  Prophet  himself,  but  to  that 
of  "  the  Lady  Fatmeh,"  his  daughter,  as  well. 


CANTO    V. 

THE  EANSOM. 

WHILE  thus  his  wretched  child  doth  bear 
The  day's  long  toil,  the  night's  unrest, 
By  strangers  pitied  and  oppressed, 
How  doth  it  with  the  father  fare  1 
We  saw  but  lately,  when  his  soul 
Was  dark  with  woe,  God's  angel  roll 
The  stone  of  his  dead  hopes  away, 
And  bid  him  rise  to  toil  and  pray  ! 
And  we,  perchance,  may  find  him  still 
Waiting  upon  his  wonted  hill. 

Yes,  there  he  stands,  but  not  alone ; 
A  silent  group  is  gathered  near, 


74:  WOLFE   OF   THE   KNOLL. 

In  every  face  a  sorrow  shown, 
In  every  eye  a  glistening  tear, 
And  o'er  the  gray  and  rocking  sea 
They  look  as  earnestly  as  he. 
For  on  the  horizon's  distant  verge 
Beyond  the  crescent  wall  of  foam — 
Thrown  up  by  the  untiring  surge — 
That  bends  around  their  island-home, 
Lighted  by  sunset's  lustrous  smile, 
They  still  can  see  a  snowy  pile 
Of  canvas  like  a  summer  cloud  ;  * 
It  bears  the  son  beloved  away 
From  the  poor  mother,-  old  and  bowed, 
Who  now  with  pallid  lips  doth  pray  ; 
It  bears  the  husband  from  the  arms 
Of  the  lone  wife  here  left  to  weep, 
And  from  his  first-born's  baby-charms 
Now  on  its  mother's  breast  asleep ; 

*  See  Appendix  VI. 


THE  KANSOM.  75 

It  bears  the  lover  from  the  maid, 

To  whom  his  only  vows  are  given, 

And  from  whose  cheek  the  blood  doth  fade, 

All  backward  to  the  full  heart  driven. 


O,  Poverty,  thy  rule  is  stern  ! 
'Tis  hard  beneath  thy  frown  to  live, 
And  yet  from  thee  thy  children  learn 
The  noblest  lesson  life  can  give, 
The  grace  most  glorious  in  the  eyes 
Of  God  and  man — self-sacrifice  ! 
When  He,  the  Holy,  came  to  show 
The  way  our  mortal  feet  should  go, 
If,  one  with  Him,  our  souls  would  be 
From  torturing  self  forever  free, 
Through  thy  low  vale  His  footsteps  led, 
On  thy  cold  lap  His  sacred  head 
Was  wont  to  find  less  certain  rest 
Than  beast  in  lair,  or  bird  in  nest. 


76  WOLFE   OF  THE  KNOLL. 

These  women,  clad  in  sable  weeds,* 
That  stand  upon  the  hillock  here, 
While  o'er  the  wave  yon  vessel  speeds 
Freighted  with  all  they  hold  most  dear — 
Think  not  they  need  our  pitying  tears  ! 
Though  want  may  force  the  loved  away, 
And  they  be  left  for  weary  years, 
Yet  they  have  learned  to  trust  and  pray. 
Soon  each  will  seek  her  quiet  cot, 
And  there  to  God,  on  bended  knee, 
Unmurmuring  at  her  lonely  lot, 
Commit  the  wanderer  o'er  the  sea ; 
Then  peaceful  sleep,  then  patient  rise 
To  labors  fresh,  fresh  sacrifice. 

Even  now  the  last  .dark  form  is  gone, 
And  Wolfe,  the  aged,  stands  alone. 
.    More  wasted  still  that  stooping  frame, 
The  pallor  on  his  brow  the  same. 

*  The  women  of  these  islands  always  wear  a  mourning  dress  while 
their  friends  are  at  sea. 


TIIE  EANSOM.  77 

And  yet  since  first  we  saw  that  eye 
A  clearer  beam  it  sure  hath  caught ; 
It  turns  not  now  so  dreamily, 
As  if  uncertain  what  it  sought ! 
But  firmly,  consciously  doth  rest 
Upon  that  cloudlet  in  the  west. 
And  well  may  he  with  hope  and  prayer 
Follow  the  barque  fast  fading  there. 
The  frail  thread  of  her  fate  is  one 
With  that  of  his  unhappy  son. 


He  rose,  when  God  said  to  the  night 
Of  his  despair  ;  '  Let  there  be  light ! ' 
And  gathered  all  his  little  store 
Of  hoarded  wealth  to  count  it  o'er. 
One  precious  chain  of  shining  gold — 
His  mother's  gift,  and  she  had  told 
How  many  generations  past 
Had  worn  the  relic,  she  the  last. 


78  WOLFE  OF  THE  KNOLL. 

He  prized  it  for  her  sake,  how  much  ! 

But  at  this  moment  not  even  such 

A  thought  could  move.     He  saw  with  joy 

How  far  'twould  aid  to  save  his  boy. 

Another  !  ah,  but  this  had  laced 

The  bodice  green  his  Mary  wore 

The  hour  when  first  a  wife  she  blessed 

The  home  that  knoweth  her  no  more ; 

And  on  her  happy  bosom  lay 

Those  bright  medallions,  hanging  still 

Upon  the  links  they  graced  that  day — 

Slowly  the  tears  his  sad  eyes  fill ; 

But  on  our  isle  even  grief  is  calm  ; 

An  instant  held  he  in  his  palm 

The  priceless  chain,  and  then  beside 

His  mother's,  laid  this  of  his  bride. 

His  little  flock  must  now  be  sold, 

His  household  stuff  all  turned  to  gold ; 

The  friendly  neighbors  bring  their  gains 

To  swell  the  sum  he  thus  obtains. 


THE   KANSOM.  79 

Into  this  treasury  too  was  cast 

The  widow's  mite,  nor  came  she  last. 

The  poor  lorn  creature  we  have  seen 

At  sunset  on  the  sandy  sEore 

Brought  all  the  riches  that  had  been 

Her  own,  and  first  her  mother's  dower; 

A  chain — our  island  maidens'  pride — 

And  rings  of  antique  form,  beside 

A  silver  watch  her  son  had  brought 

From  some  strange  land,  she  knew  not  what. 

"  Take  these,  good  neighbor !  I  am  reft 

Of  sons  and  daughters  ;  none  are  left 

To  claim  them  when  He  calls  me  home, 

And  where  I  go  these  cannot  come." 

The  goodly  ransom,  now  all  told, 

A  hand  within  that  ship  doth  hold — 

A  trusty  hand,  pledged  o'er  the  sea 

To  bear  it  safe  to  Barbary. 

Alas!  old  man, who  watchest  now 

With  chastened  joy  and  pious  vow 


80  WOLFE   OF  THE  KNOLL. 

Yon  point  that,  while  we  speak,  away 
Has  melted  in  the  twilight  gray, 
Thy  Gracious  Maker  hides  from  thee, 
In  love,  the  things  which  yet  must  be  ! 
.   And  we — were  it  not  well  to  look 
No  further  now  in  Fate's  dark  book, 
But  turn  a  backward  glance  the  while 
On  the  past  fortunes  of  our  isle  ! 


Stand  we  by  Wolfe  upon  the  knoll,  and  turn  us  to  the  sea ; 

There,  where  the  waves  like  breakers  roll  in  foam  so  wild 
and  free, 

Stood  the  first  church  the  old  man  knew,  though  parish  re 
cords  say 

That  many  a  goodlier  one  before  the  tide  had  swept  away. 

Even  yet  the  shepherds  deem  they  hear,  of  a  still  Easter 
morn, 

The  chiming  of  the  bells  full  clear  from  the  deep  waves  up 
borne, 


THE   EANSOM.  81 

And  that  at  midnight  when  they  watch  by  some  dear  pass 
ing  soul, 

The  listening  ear  may  faintly  catch  a  low  and  muffled  toll. 
'Tis  said,  too,  when  the  sea  is  calm,  that  ofttimes  may  be 

seen 

Not  only  the  lost  house  of  God,  but  buried  homes  of  men  ; 
That  still  upright  beneath  the  flood  as  fair  to  view  they  stand 
As  when  they  rose  upon  the  isle,  fresh  from  the  builder's 

hand.* 
But  to  my  tale.     In  that  first  church,  upon  Wolfe's  infant 

head 
With  simple  rite,  the  man  of  God  Christ's  covenant  waters 

shed. 
There  with  his  parents,  when  a  boy,  from  week  to  week  he 

went 
To  pray  for  pardon  of  his  sins  through  him  whom  God  hath 

sent. 


*  It  is  reported  of  many  of  the  sunken  hamlets,  that  at  times  their 
church-bells  are  heard  to  ring  beneath  the  water,  and  that  in  still  weather, 
their  houses  can  be  discerned  in  the  deep.     The  bells  of  a  sunken  village 
in  North  Friesland  are  said  to  chime  on  Easter  morning. 
4* 


82  WOLFE  OF  THE  KNOLL. 

There,  men  and  angels  witnessing,  he  stood  in  manhood's 

pride, 
And  wedded  with  a  soul-deep  vow  his  orphan  Iceland  bride. 

But  all  these  years  the  wasting  shore  was  crumbling,  day 

by  day ; 

With  purpose  sure,  the  cruel  foe  aneared  his  trembling  prey. 
Each  art  the  island  knew  was  tried  the  hallowed  Rouse  to 

save ; 
In  vain — one  night  of  wind  and  tide,  it  sunk  beneath  the 

wave. 

Sadly  at  dawn  they  gathered  there  to  see  the  ruin  wrought ; 
The  fearful  sight  to  every  heart  a  painful  shudder  brought. 
The  church  was  gone,  the  churchyard,  too,  alas  !  all  washed 

away, 

There  scattered  on  the  moaning  beach,  the  broken  coffins  lay ; 
Some  were  still  hanging  to  the  bank  from  which  the  soil  had 

slid, 
The  mouldering  skeleton  within  seen  through  the  shattered 

lid; 


THE   KANSOM.  83 

And  bones,  that  loving  friends  had  laid  full  tenderly  to  rest, 
Swept  far  away,  were  rudely  rocked  on  the  rough  ocean's 

breast. 
Shocked  into  silence,  lo !    that  group  a  moment  fixed  as 

stone ! 

Then  sudden  every  bosom  heaves  with  a  half-stifled  groan. 
Not  one  but  sees  some  sleeping  friend  torn  from  the  quiet 

bed, 
Where  he  had  hoped  to  lie  in  peace  till  God  should  wake 

the  dead. 
The  parent  mourns  the  child  anew ;    children  for  parents 

weep ; 
And  spouse  for  spouse — their  treasures  safe  not  e'en  the 

grave  will  keep. 
Poor  Wolfe  sought  vainly,  as  he  held  his  trembling  Mary 

fast, 
For  the  pale  sod  that  covered  all  save  Melleff,  now  their 

last.* 

*  The  cemeteries  are  often  washed  away,  and  the  bodies  of  the  dead 
are  not  unfrequently  removed  to  a  more  secure  resting-place  when  such  a 
catastrophe  threatens. 


84:  WOLFE   OF   THE   KNOLL. 

At  length  the  pastor  mildly  spoke;  "  O  little  flock,"  he  said, 
"  Wherefore  are  ye  cast  down,  and  why  are  ye  disquieted  ? 
The  body  that  we  sow  is  not  the  body  that  shall  be — 
So  writes  the  apostle  unto  whom  was  shown  the  mystery — 
"With  such  a  form  as  pleaseth  Him  our  God  shall  clothe  His 

saints, 
He  needeth  not  these  poor  remains — cease  then  your  vain 

complaints.! 
Already  round   his   radiant   throne   the   Lord's   redeemed 

stand, 
Nor  fire  nor  flood  nor  death  nor  hell  shall  pluck  them  from 

His  hand. 
Sorrow  not  o'er  these  wave-washed  bones,  but  rather  let  us 

pray 

For  everlasting  freedom  from  the  galling  bonds  of  clay  !  " 
They  prayed  ;  then  to  their  common  toil  with  lighter  hearts 

returned, 
But  long  and  deeply  for  their  church,  pastor  and  people 

mourned. 


THE   EANSOM.  85 

One  anxious  thought  filled  every  mind — anew  how  should 

they  build  ? 
No  block  of  stone,  no  beam  of  wood,  their  naked  soil  doth 

yield ; 
All  must  be  brought  from  other  shores,  nor  would,  for 

years,  suffice 

The  produce  of  their  little  fold  to  pay  the  needful  price. 
One  only  source  of  gain,  beside,  their  barren  isle  can  boast ; 
When  mighty  winds,  for  many  days,  the  angry  waves  have 

tossed, 

Till  the  vast  chambers  of  the  deep  are  shaken  to*  their  base, 
And  then  the  weary  sea  retires  to  his  accustomed  place, 
Along  his  track,  retreating,  lo  !  the  sparkling  amber  spread,* 
Rent  and  cast  upward  by  the  storm  from  ocean's  jewelled 

bed! 
Here  the  pure  drops  long  ages  gone  were  known  as  Freya's 

tears, 
And  still,  passed  down  from  sire  to  son,  the  shining  treasure 

bears 

*  See  Appendix  VII. 


86  WOLFE   OF   THE   KNOLL. 

The  ancient  name,  though  long  forgot  the  tale  from  whence 

it  sprung — 

The  memory  of  Odur's  spouse  has  perished  even  from  song  ! 
Yet  not  less  valued  than  of  old  is  the  fair  merchandise, 
And  for  our  frugal  islanders  their  choicest  stores  it  buy*s. 
All  these  they  gladly  will  resign ;  henceforth  it  is  their  care 
To  consecrate  the  wealth  so  gained  to  rear  a  house  of  prayer. 
A  few  short  years  of  sacrifice  their  lost  church  may  replace  ; 
The  thought  sheds  joy  on  every  heart,  a  smile  on  every  face. 
Whene'er  the  warring  elements  exhausted  sleep  once  more, 
Eager  they -seek  the  glittering  spoil  along  the  dripping  shore. 
Some  search  the  channel's  oozy  bed  left  for  a  moment  dry, 
While  others  higher  on  the  beach  a  safer  fortune  try. 
And  some  with  bolder  foot  press  close  on  the  receding  flood, 
Still  watchful  lest  their  faithless  foe  turn   back   iii  angry 

mood. 
Children  o'erleap  the  narrow  creeks,  light  bounding  to  and 

fro, 
With  panting  breath  and  burning  cheeks,  each  new  found 

prize  to  show. 


THE   KANSOM.  87 

Their  quest  they  cease  not  till  the  tide,  repenting  his  retreat, 
Turns  suddenly  and  towards  their  wharves  drives  them  with 

flying  feet. 
Then  with  glad  hearts  the  glowing  hoard  they  to  the  pastor 

bear, 
That  he  in  their  increasing  store  their  modest  joy  may 

share. 

So  months  passed  on,  and  all  the  gams  thus  gathered  from 

the  sea 

Formed  still  a  treasury  lighter  far  than  their  necessity. 
The  autumn,  too,  came  on  apace,  and  they  could  meet  no 

more 
To  worship,  where  the  church  once  stood,  upon  the  open 

shore. 
Yet  wintry  tempests,  gathering  strength,  might  scatter  on 

the  strand 

The  golden  pebbles  so  desired  with  a  more  lavish  hand. 
Such  was  the  talk  one  cold  gray  morn,  as  they  drew  near 

the  sea  . 


88  WOLFE   OF   THE   KNOLL. 

Still  hoarse  with  chafing  all  the  night,  though  now  no  wind 

was  free. 

A  child's  swift  foot  that  blind  pursued  the  eye's  more  dis 
tant  aim, 
Struck  sharply  on  an  iron  ring  that  well  might  wonder 

claim. 
That  child  was  MellefF,  still  the  first  when  Fortune  smiled 

or  frowned,  • 

And  ever  for  adventure  strange  o'er  all  the  isle  renowned. 
They  dug,  and  lo  !  a  heavy  box,  strong  and  of  curious  form, 
Was   lifted  from  the  solid  drift  packed   round  it  by   the 

storm. 
They  climbed  the  downs,  and  every  shoal  searched  with  a 

careful  eye, 
Even  to  the  horizon's  utmost  verge,  where  wrecks  were  wont 

to  lie. 
Canvas  nor  mast  nor  hulk  were  there,  and  wasting  rust  told 

plain 
That  long  upon  the  lonely  beach  that  ancient    chest   had 

lain. 


THE   KANSOM.  89 

Great  was  the  marvel,  greater  still  when  on  their  dazzled  sight 
Flashed  all  the  riches  hid  within,  the  gold,  the  silver  bright, 
So  fairly  wrought  that  many  deemed  they  saw  the  precious 

hoard, 
That  cunning  dwarfs  (as  sagas  tell)  beneath  the  downs  had 

stored.* 

They  sent  the  tidings  far  and  wide,  but  owner  never  came, 
Message  or  letter  none  were  sent  the  costly  prize  to  claim. 
Who  knoweth  but  the  same  wild  surf  that  here  the  chest 

had  rolled, 
Choked  into  silence  every  voice  that  might  its  tale  have 

told? 
At  length  the  glittering  toys  were  sold.     O  !  what  a  joy  to 

find 
The  little  church  might  now  be  built  for  which  they  so  had 

pined. 

For  greater  safety  from  the  sea,  another  site  they  chose 
Behind  the  downs,  and  rapidly  the  humble  walls  arose. 

*  A  similar  incident  actually  occurred  on  one  of  these  islands. 


90  WOLFE   OF   THE   KNOLL, 

Years  passed ;    full  many  a  wharf  had  bowed  before  the 

tyrant  flood, 

And  still  unharmed  by  wind  or  wave  that  sanctuary  stood. 
Yet,  ah  !  such  changes  time  had  wrought  among  the  shifting 

downs, 

That  in  a  foe  till  now  unfeared  a  sure  destruction  frowns. 
In  vain  with  tireless  zeal  they  strive  to  avert  the  stern  decree, 
Onward  the  mighty  sandwave  rolls  resistless  as  the  sea. 
Slowly  it  creepeth  up  the  walls,  it  gathers  round  the  door, 
Sifts  through  the  casements'  guarded  seams,  and   thickly 

strews  the  floor. 
Long  did  they  clear,  from  week  to  week,  the  swelling  heaps 

away, 
Meeting  within  those  hallowed  courts  each  blessed  sabbath 

day. 

But  ever  higher  rose  the  sand,  defying  human  strength  ; 
It  reached  the  seats,  the  pastor's  desk,  and  choked  the  door 

at  length. 


*  For  an  account  of  a  church  buried  in  this  way  by  the  sand,  see  Ap 
pendix  VIII. 


THE  RANSOM.  91 

To  a  new  entrance,  thus  enforced,  a  window  they  transform ; 
Still  is  the  shelter  of  the  roof  more  welcome  than  the  storm. 
There  at  the  patient  pastor's  feet  gathered  the  little  band 
Of  tried  and  faithful  worshippers,  no  cushion  but  the  sand. 
There  lifted  they  their  hearts  to  Him  who  once  in  meekness 

made 
Himself  the  Son  of  man,  and  had  not  where  to  lay  his  head. 

O  child  of  wealth  !  the  portals  high  of  a  cathedral  pile 
Stand  wide  for  thee,  and  thou  dost  sweep  through  the  long 

pillared  aisle, 

With  dainty  foot,  and  jewelled  hand,  in  raiment  rich  and  rare, 
To  rest  on  swelling  velvet  soft,  through  a  brief  hour  of 

prayer. 
Yet  to  have  faith  like  one  of  these,  if  thou  but  knew  its 

worth, 
Thou'dst  gladly  give  thy  place  for  his  upon  the  dusty  earth. 

And  thou  to  whom  the  lines  have  fallen  God's  word  to 
minister 


92  WOLBE   OF  THE   KNOLL. 

In  pleasant  places  to  the  rich,  of  thine  own  soul  have  care  ! 
See  that  thou  miss  not  the  bright  crown  of  glory  only  worn 
By  those  who  first  the  bitter  cross  of  sacrifice  have  borne. 
Oppressed  with  solitude  and  want,  behold  thy  brother  stand, 
Feeding  with  zeal  the  humble  flock  committed  to  his  hand ! 
Possessed,  it  may  be,  of  a  mind  as  richly  stored  as  thine,     ' 
Gifted  with  kindling  eloquence,  where  thought  and  grace - 

combine, 

That  well  might  challenge  the  applause  of  audience  more  fit, 
'And  'draw  admiring  crowds  to  praise  his  wisdom  and  his 

wit : 

Yet,  prompt  to  do  his  Master's  will,  he  asks  of  man  no  meed — 
Of  such  a  stimulus  to  toil  hast  thou  as  little  need  1 
Boldly  against  a  nation's  sin  thou  dost  not  spare  to  cry  ; 
'Tis  well !     God  help  thee  !  lift  thy  voice  in  trumpet  tones 

on  high, 
Until  our  land  repent  her  crimes ! — and  yet  who  will  not 

own 
'Tis  easier  far  such  war  to  wage  where  thousands  shout, 

"well  done!" 


THE  RANSOM.  93 

Than  thus,  an  exile  from  the  world,  in  such  a  waste  obscure, 
Death  threatening  in  each  rising  gale,  with  patience  to  endure 
Privation,  labor,  loneliness,  no  witness  to  applaud, 
Save  his  own  conscience  and  the  eye,  all-seeing,  of  his  God. 

The  autumn  wind,  that  mournfully  had  sighed  all  day,  sobbed 

still 
More  loudly  and  grew  passionate  as  night's  gray  shadows 

fell. 

Low  mist-like  clouds  rolled  rapidly  over  the  evening  sky, 
And  a  yet  darker  mask  was  seen  through  their  thin  drapery, 
So  thick  that  neither  moon  nor  stars  could  pierce  it  with  a 

ray, 
Nor  through  its  heavy  folds  had  shot  one  beam  of  parting 

day. 
Like  a  tired  beast  of  prey,  for  hours  the  sluggish  sea  had 

slept, 
And  scarce  would  heed  the  driving  winds  that  o'er  its  bosom 

swept. 


94  WOLFE  OF  THE  KNOLL. 

But  wnen  the  gathering  darkness  came,  its  deep  and  sullen 
roar, 

More  dreadful  than  the  shrieking  gale,  shook  all  the  trem 
bling  shore. 

Long,  long,  and  fearful  was  the  night,  but  when,  with  languid 
smile 

And  tardy  wing,  the  morning  rose  upon  the  drenched  isle, 

The  winds  were  hushed ;  not  so  the  dash  of  the  far  sound 
ing  sea, 

Toward  which  the  anxious  shepherds  looked  with  kindly 
sympathy. 

There,  beating  on  a  fatal  shoal,  a  noble  vessel  lay, 

And  high  above  her  stately  decks  was  tossed  the  snow-white 
spray. 

A  moment  more,  a  sturdy  boat,  strong  arms  at  every  oar, 
Is  flying  toward  the  stranded  ship  where  loud  the  breakers 

roar. 
Now,  God  be  thanked !  the  gallant  craft  is  not  a  hopeless 

wreck ; 
The  weary  crew  are  standing  safe  upon  the  sloping  deck. 


THE  KANSOM.  95 

With  shouts  they  hail  the  barque  that  braves  for  them  so 

wild  a  sea, 

Bold  Wolfe,  the  pilot,  pledged  himself  to  set  the  vessel  free 
At  evening  tide — so  well  he  knew  what  change  of  wind  was 

near — 

And  bade  the  troubled  mariners  dismiss  each  anxious  fear. 
At  sunset  rose  the  swelling  tide,  the  breeze  set  from  the 

land, 

Another  hour,  and  the  good  ship  was  floated  from  the  sand, 
And,  wisely  steered  by  him  who  knew  the  perils  of  that 

shore, 
Threaded  the  crooked  channel  safe,  and  stood  to  sea  once 

more. 

Weeks  passed — broad  broken  bands  of  ice  behind  the  island 

stretch, 
So  that  however  great  the  need,  none  might  the  mainland 

reach. 
Though  want,  disease  and  death  draw  nigh,  succor  they  may 

have  none, 


96  WOLFE  OF  TIIE  KNOLL. 

Other  than,  this  poor  sod  affords,  except  from  God  alone.* 
And  yet  their  childlike  faith  in  Him  forbids  each  anxious 

fear, 
For  though  they  know  their   brethren  far,  they  feel  their 

Father  near. 
With  patient,  but  with  longing  hearts,  they  wait  the  coming 

spring ; 

Even  to  this  barren  wilderness  new  pleasures  doth  she  bring. 
True,  here  she  comes  not  garlanded  with  the  bright  flowers 

she  loves, 
And  drawn  by  throngs  of  singing  birds,  like  Venus  by  her 

doves ; 

But  smoother  seas  and  brighter  skies  her  gentle  heralds  are, 
And  yet  more  welcome  still  the  news  she  brings  from  friends 

afar. 


*  In  the  autumn  the  single  wharfs  are  often  separated  from  each  other 
by  the  tide,  and  in  the  winter,  the  ice  sometimes  cuts  them  off  from  the 
mainland  for  weeks  together.  The  isolation  of  the  Halligs  is  most  deeply 
felt  in  case  of  sickness.  They  are  then  obliged  to  send  across  the  oozy 
flats,  a  distance  of  twenty  or  thirty  miles,  for  medical  advice  and  attend 
ance,  but  even  this  is  possible  only  in  favorable  weather. — Weigelt,die 
Nordfricsischen  Inseln.  20. 


THE   RANSOM. 


97 


Parents,  whose  hardy  sons  have  sought  their  fortune  on  the 
deep, 

Maidens,  whose  lovers  toil  abroad  while  they  must  wait  and 
weep, 

The  pastor  linked  to  the  great  world  by  every  tender  tie 

That  binds  the  memory  to  the  past — all  these  for  tidings  sigh. 

They  come— alas  'tis  ever  so !  some  weep  while  others  smile ; 

Yet  to  the  hand  of  Wolfe  was  brought  a  joy  for  all  the  isle. 

The  wealthy  owner  of  the  ship  late  stranded  on  this  coast, 

And  which  but  for  his  timely  aid  had  surely  there  been  lost. 

Such  generous  recompense  has   sent  for   succor  promptly 
given, 

As  well  may  serve  to  rear  a  house  to  the  great  God  of 
Heaven. 

This  his  first  thought.     With  clamorous  tongue  he  pleads 
no  special  right, 

But  in  one  purpose,  with  one  voice,  like  brothers  all  unite. 

"  The  Lord  hath  touched  the  stranger's  heart.     How  won 
drous  are  his  ways  ! 

Another  temple  to  His  name  with  joyful  hands  we'll  raise." 
5 


98  WOLFE   OF   THE   KNOLL. 

'Twos  done.  Wild,  desolating  floods  have  o'er  the  island 
rolled 

Full  oft  since  then,  not  sparing  even  the  shepherd  and  his 
fold. 

That  church  still  stands,  and,  to  the  eyes  of  those  who  wor 
ship  there, 

Its  simple  walls  and  humble  spire  are  objects  not  less  fair 

Than  Zion's  towers  and  bulwarks  seemed  to  Israel's  shep 
herd  king, 

When  by  her  glorious  beauty  moved  such  strains  of  praise 
to  sing. 


CANTO    VI. 

THE  CAKAVAN. 

LAND  of  the  pyramid  !   land  of  the  palm  ! 
Fanning  us  now  with  thy  breezes  of  balm, 
Lovely  thou  art,  and  yet  stranger  than  fair  ! 
Glamour  is  with  thee,  and  whoso  shall  dare 
Look  on  thy  beauty  will  know  never  more 
Rest,  till  the  throb  of  his  last  pulse  is  o'er  !  * 
Long  since  thy  vassals,  why  shudder  we  then, 
Feeling  thy  breath  on  our  foreheads  again  ? 
Angels  of  God  !  that  in  nightly  patrol 
Wheel  round  our  planet  from  pole  unto  pole, 
Hovering  now  o'er  yon  desolate  isle, 
Now  where  the  date-groves  of  Barbary  smile, 

*  Niemand  wandelt  unter  Palmen  ungestraft. 


100  WOLFE   OF   THE   KNOLL. 

There,  whispering  soft  to  the  meek  as  they  sleep, 

Here,  frowning  darkly  on  robbers  that  creep 

Forth  in  the  midnight,  dividing  their  prey — 

Do  ye  not  sorrow  to  turn  you  away 

Thus,  from  the  dwelling  of  peace,  to  the  shore 

Echoing  with  tumult  and  strife  evermore — 

Hither,  where  hearts  through  their  pride  have  grown 

cold, 

Shrivelled  and  seared  by  the  lust  after  gold  ? 
Oh,  not  the  brightness,  that  Israel's  way 
Guided  in  glory  by  night  and  by  day, 
Fired  him  with  courage  unflinching  to  bear 
Pains  that  here  lightly  for  Mammon  they  dare  ! 
Man's  eager  hand  from  that  glittering  fleece 
Fear  cannot  hold,  nor  sweet  pity  release  ! 
Yet  will  we  follow  where  MelleflT,  the  slave, 
Pineth  for  home,  and  imploreth  a  grave. 

Behold  Tunisia's  towers  once  more, 
See  through  her  Gate  of  Plenty  pour 


THE   CARAVAN.  101 

Camels  and  men,  a  ceaseless  tide, 
First  a  dense  line,  then — spreading  wide 
Like  a  full  stream  that  doth  o'erflow 
Its  banks,  and  fill  the  vale  below — 
They  roll  adown  the  rocky  steep, 
And  the  wide  olive-plains  o'ersweep. 

To-day  the  merchant  caravan  * 
Its  yearly  march  Jo  far  Soudan 
Begins.     Beneath  a  flaming  sky 
Its  long  and  perilous  way  doth  lie 
O'er  Sahara's  boundless,  pathless  plains, 
Where  wild,  unchanging  horror  reigns. 
The  adventurer,  who  shall  safely  reach 
Nigritia's  border,  thence  may  fetch — 
The  price  of  trifles  worthless  nigh 
To  all  but  the  untutored  eye, 


*  The  reader  will  find  a  full  account  of  the  organization  and  march  of 
the  great  caravans  engaged  in  the  Soudan  trade,  in  Le  Grand  Desert  ou 
Itineraire  d'une  Caravane  du  Sahara  au  pays  des  Negres,  par  Eugene  Dau- 
mas,  et  Ausone  de  Chancel.  Paris,  1848. 


102  WOLFE   OF  THE   KNOLL. 

Or  a  few  handfuls  of  the  weed 
Scarce  sanctioned  by  the  Moslem  creed — * 
Treasures  which  kings  would  gladly  own. 
'Neath  sacks  of  gold  his  camels  groan, — 
Those  shining  sands  the  Jinn  have  rolled 
From  mountain  caverns  dark  and  cold, 
Down  crystal  streams  to  plains  below, 
There  in  the  tropic  fires  to  glow ; 
Her  plumes  are  from  the  ostrich  rent, 
Nor  spared  the  lordly  elephant. 
Even  man — his  brother  man — the  pains 
Of  death  must  feel,  to  swell  his  gains. 
Tribe  against  tribe  doth  lift  the  spear, 
None  deems  a  trinket  bought  too  dear, 
If  but  some  wretched  captive  may 
The  price  with  life-long  service  pay. 


*  It  was  long  a  question  among  the  doctors  of  the  Mohammedan  law 
whether  tobacco  was  not  virtually  forbidden  to  the  faithful,  as  an  intox 
icating  drug.  The  use  of  tobacco  was  made  a  highly  penal  offence  by 
some  of  the  Turkish  sultans. 


THE  CAKAVAN.  103 

Yet  leave  such  thoughts,  and  mark  how  bright 

The  landscape  glows  in  morning  light ! 

Oh,  'tis  a  wondrous  show  and  fair, 

The  living  picture  painted  there ! 

All  the  vast  crowd  clad  in  a  guise 

Strange  to  the  Frank's  unwonted  eyes ; 

The  scarlet  fez,  the  white  bernous, 

The  gay  keffieh  floating  loose, 

With  its  long  fringes  light  and  free 

By  every  breeze  tossed  gracefully ; 

The  sash  that  in  its  brilliant  folds 

The  Arab's  choicest  treasures  holds, 

His  yataghan,  with  massive  hilt, 

His  heavy  pistols  richly  gilt ; 

The  spahi  to  rough  battle  bred, 

With  tufted  lance  and  mantle  red ; 

Wild  horsemen  flying  like  the  wind, 

Their  wide  robes  streaming  far  behind  ; 

Steeds,  whose  rich  trappings  well  may  vie 

With  their  gay  riders'  bravery, 


104:  WOLFE   OF   THE   KNOLL. 

And  ill  whose  kindling  eye  there  glares 
The  same  wild  light  that  burns  in  theirs ; 
And  scarce  less  prized,  with  foot  as  light, 
The  young  mehari  creamy  white, 
Her  saddle  with  full  tassels  hung, 
Her  neck  with  polished  cowries  strung ; 
There  the  grave  camel  pensive  stands, 
As  dreaming  of  the  endless  sands, 
That  he,  with  laden  step,  must  tread, 
The  vulture  hovering  o'er  his  head. 

But  lo,  the  pacha  and  his  train 
\V  ind  down  the  pathway  to  the  plain. 
Hareern,  guard,  servants,  form  his  suite, 
All  ordered  with  a  splendor  meet 
For  Eastern  despot,  when  he  goes 
In  search  of  pleasure,  not  of  foes. 
When  the  date-harvest  draweth  nigh, 
It  is  the  pacha's  wont  to  fly 
From  cares  of  state,  awhile  to  rest 


THE   CAKAVAN.  105 

In  Nefta's  *  gardens,  rich  and  blest 

As  groves  of  the  Hesperides, 

Whose  golden  apples  Gods  could  please. 

There  soars  the  palm  of  loftiest  shoot, 

Of  broadest  leaf,  and  choicest  fruit ; 

Nor  this  alone,  but  every  tree, 

Shrub,  vine,  most  prized  by  luxury. 

Now,  when  the  caravan  affords 

Sure  guard  against  the  robber-hordes, 

Thither  the  pleasure-loving  Bey 

With  friends  and  followers  takes  his  way, 

To  linger  there  till  Spring's  bright  train 

Makes  Tunis  paradise  again. 

A  jet-black  courser  doth  he  ride, 

That  bears  his  lord  with  conscious  pride ; 

A  nobler  steed,  as  all  may  see, 


*  Neffca,  the  Negeta  of  the  Romans,  a  town  of  3000  inhabitants,  lies 
south-west  of  Tunis,  and  is  remarkable  for  the  abundance  and  excellent 
quality  of  its  waters,  its  olives,  its  dates,  its  pomegrantes,  its  melons,  and, 
in  short,  all  the  vegetable  productions  of  the  climate.  The  Bey  of  Tunis 
has  a  palace  at  Nefta,  and  formerly  made  it  his  winter  residence. 


106  WOLFE   OF  THE   KNOLL. 

Was  never  bred  in  Araby. 

And  close  at  hand,  the  aatoosh  shows 

Its  silken  curtains,  that  enclose 

The  bright  Messouda,  the  young  \vife 

Of  A ali,  precious  as  his  life. 

Another — this  his  daughter  bears, 

The  lovely  Fatmeh,  now  of  years 

More  womanly,  and  with  a  light 

Of  beauty  lent  to  mortal  sight 

But  rarely.     To  the  childlike  grace, 

That  ever  marks  the  Eastern  maid, 

Is  added,  in  that  matchless  face, 

Of  earnestness  a  tender  shade. 

Whence  came  that  beam  of  heavenly  thought 

To  one  by  book  or  sage  untaught, 

And  in  a  false  religion  bred  ? 

Be  not  so  narrow  in  thy  creed ! 

The  God,  who  Job  and  Abram  loved, 

Although  their  people  knew  Him  not, 

Who  Moab's  gentle  daughter  moved, 


THE   CAKAVAN.  107 


Though  Moab  had  His  name  forgot, 
Hath  still  His  own  in  every  land 
Taught  by  His  voice  led  by  His  hand  ! 

Old  Gerda  at  the  maiden's  side 
Beholds  her  with  a  mother's  pride ; 
Their  talk  is  of  the  late  demand 
Made  by  Algeria's  tyrant  lord, 
Stern  Ibrahim,  for  Fatmeh's  hand, 
To  which  the  Bey  will  not  accord  ; 
And  much  the  grateful  daughter  fears 
Her  father's  pity  for  her  tears 
May  kindle  war's  devouring  flame— 
*  Then  hers  the  sin  and  hers  the  shame  ! 

Behind  the  women  came  a  troop 
Of  slaves — a  strangely  mingled  group, 
Together  brought  o'er  land  and  sea, 
Of  every  faith  and  every  kin, 
From  Ethiop's  darkest  ebony 
To  Europe's  fairest,  rosiest  skin. 


108  WOLFE    OF   THE    KNOLL. 

Above  the  rest,  young  Melleff's  form 

Towered  high,  as  doth  the  forest  tree 

Over  the  brushwood,  though  the  storm 

May  bow  its  head  full  heavily. 

His  foot  is  lingering,  and  his  eye 

Turned  backward  to  the  Northern  sky  ; 

For  each  reluctant  step  removes 

Him  further  from  the  home  he  loves. 

Alas  !  he  may  no  more  delay  ; 

The  caravan  is  on  its  way  ! 

Allah  hoo  akbar  !  how  the  cry 

Swells  upward,  as  'twould  rend  the  sky ! 

Now,  now,  must  friends  their  farewells  speak, 

Not  wives — they  make  the  heart  too  weak. 

Sadly  the  parting  words  are  said, 

Sires  bless  their  sons,  with  hands  outspread, 

Mothers  and  sisters  weeping  loud, 

With  their  full  pitchers,  through  the  crowd 

Arc  hurrying,  water  fresh  to  throw 

Upon  the  camels  ere  they  go  ; 


THE   CAKAVAN.  109 

Then  gather,  with  a  trembling  hand 
And  tearful  eye,  the  trodden  sand, 
Where  the  departing  foot  was  set, 
To  wear  it  for  an  amulet ; 
Praying  it  may  be  Allah's  will 
Their  friends  should  meet  no  omen  ill, 
No  slave  deformed,  nor  men  at  strife, 
Nor  raven  boding  loss  of  life  ; 
Rather  a  warrior  richly  clad, 
Or  a  young  matron  gay  and  glad, 
Who  her  soft  girdle  will  unbind, 
And  give  it  fluttering  to  the  wind, 
To  insure  for  them  a  safe  return, 
And  for  herself  a  gift  to  earn. 
Meanwhile,  the  human  flood  sweeps  on 
Through  olive-groves,  rough  steeps  adown, 
Through  viny  vales,  o'er  sandy  wastes, 
Alternate,  till  at  length  it  rests 
Beneath  the  walls  of  old  Zowan  ; 
There  sleeps  the  weary  caravan. 


110  WOLFE   OF  THE   KNOLL. 

O  Melleff!  had  the  pictured  scroll 

Of  Time's  strange  tale  ere  met  thine  eye, 

The  anguish  of  thy  fainting  soul 

Thou  wouldst  forget,  where  thou  dost  lie, 

Gazing  on  Zowan's  towering  crest 

Now  in  its  sunset  glory  dressed. 

Hark  !  from  yon  frowning  heights  dost  thou  not  hear 
Voices  unearthly  through  the  gathering  gloom, 
So  low  and  mournful,  that  the  listening  ear 
Knows  them  but  echoes  from  the  hollow  tomb  ? 

Alas,  we  cannot  catch  the  words  they  speak ! 
From  lips  of  such  ethereal  essence  light, 
Our  heavy,  cloddish  senses  are  too  weak 
To  guess  the  mystic  meaning  half  aright. 

Oh,  for  the  gift  divine,  late  dreamers  claim, 
With  souls  departed  converse  free  to  hold  ! 
Then  would  we  bid  the  dead  of  olden  fame 
Come  nearer,  and  the  mighty  past  unfold. 


THE   CARAVAN.  HI 

Ye  stoled  priests,  who  erst  majestic  trod 
Those  peaks  sublime,  with  hymn  and  offering  due 
To  greet  Phoenicia's  bright  and  burning  god, 
When  o'er  them  his  first  ray  and  last  he  threw ; 

Who  lingered  still,  when  his  glad  beams  were  gone, 
To  welcome  great  Astarte,  queen  of  Heaven, 
That,  crescent-crowned,  shot  from  her  sapphire  throne 
A  light  which  paled  the  fairest  star  of  even  ; 

What  Orient  land  was  first  your  father's  nurse  ? 
How  had  they  thus  Jehovah's  name  forgot, 
Who  to  the  sun  gives  his  appointed  course, 
And  the  moon  seasons  that  she  passes  not  ? 

Tell  us  of  Dido,  young  and  -lovely  queen, 
Wherefore  an  exile  from  the  Tyrian  shore  ? 
Or,  was  she  but  a  phantom  only  seen 
In  the  fond  poet's  visionary  lore  ? 


112  WOLFE   OF   THE   KNOLL. 

Sicilia's  tyrant,  fierce  Agathocles  ! 
How  looked  great  Carthage,  when  from  yonder  mount 
Thou  didst  survey,  with  anxious,  longing  eyes, 
This  tempting  vale,  and  war's  stern  chances  count  'I  * 

What  arts  have  flourished,  ere  the  Roman  sword, 
With  jealous  hate  accursed,  laid  all  so  low  1 
And  was  indeed  this  ancient  empire's  word 
As  worthless  as  the  faith  of  nations  now  ? 

Alas,  there  comes  no  answer  all  the  night ! 
In  vain  we  summon  him  called  African, 
And  him  of  Utica,  though  well  they  might 
Still  linger  where  their  deathless  fame  began. 

Even  Hippo's  bishop  will  not  hear  our  prayer  ! 
He,  open  once  as  truth — though  we  entreat 


*  It  was  from  the  peak  of  Zowan  that,  according  to  Diodorus  Siculus, 
Agathocles  viewed  both  Carthage  and  Iludrumetum  in  that  bold  cam 
paign,  when  in  the  midst  of  the  siege  of  Syracuse  by  the  Carthaginians, 
he  secretly  left  the  city,  and  landed  with  a  considerable  force,  near  the 
enemy's  capital  in  Africa,  and  after  many  brilliant  victories,  nearly  suc 
ceeded  in  capturing  it. 


THE  CARAVAN.  113 

With  passion  unto  tears — deigns  not  declare 
"What  now  he  would  retract,  and  what  repeat. 

Let  us  then  trace  those  streams  of  crystal  sheen 
To  their  high  sources  in  the  mountain's  breast. 
Will  they  not  tell  us  what  strange  things  have  been, 
Since  first  their  sparkling  floods  these  valleys  blest  ? 

No !    Ammon's  temple  *  even  is  silent  now, 
With  none  to  tell  who  bade  its  mighty  heart 
Send  forth  the  tide,  whose  full  and  lengthening  flow 
To  thirsty  Carthage  did  its  wealth  impart. 

Alas  !  we  find  no  teacher  'neath  the  skies, 
Save  giant  skeletons  of  empires  dead  ! 
May  yet  some  great  historic  Cuvier  rise, 
New  light,  from  these,  on  ages  past  to  shed ! 

*  The  temple  of  Jupiter  Ammon,  the  walls  of  which  are  still  standing, 
is  the  most  important  of  the  ruins  ot  Zowan.  The  temple  was  a  sort  of 
chateau  d'eau,  containing  an  immense  basin  for  receiving  the  waters  of  the 
fountains,  and  delivering  them  into  the  aqueduct,  which,  by  a  circuitous 
route  of  fifty  miles,  conveyed  them  to  Carthage. 


114:  WOLFE   OF   THE   KNOLL. 


But  the  poor  captive  had  no  dreams 
Like  these.     Far  other  were  the  themes 
That  fed  his  fancy,  as  he  lay 
Dreading  yet  longing  for  the  day. 
A  vision  of  the  night  revealed 
Ere  sleep  had  once  his  eye-lids  sealed — 
As  then  undoubtingly  he  deemed — 
And  which  so  true,  so  life-like  seemed, 
Now  with  confusion  clouds  his  brain — 
He  thinks  it  o'er  and  o'er  again. 
Robed,  voiced  like  woman,  it  drew  near 
His  side  and  bade  him — "  Be  of  cheer  ! 
Nor  longer  mourn  thy  mother's  fears, 
For  God  hath  dried  her  many  tears  ! 
The  sunset  of  thy  father's  day 
Thou  yet  may'st  brighten — hope  and  pray  ! 
Even  here  doth  love  still  watch  o'er  thee, 
With  purpose  strong  to  set  thee  free  !  " 


THE   CAKAVAtf.  115 


He  tried  to  speak — the  figure  fast 
Melted  away,  and  all  was  passed  ! 

Day  comes — not  with  a  lingering  foot, 
As  in  the  chill  and  misty  North, 
But  suddenly  its  red  beams  shoot 
Athwart  the  sky,  and  o'er  the  earth. 
Then  all  is  bustle  in  the  camp, 
Of  man  and  beast  a  hurried  tramp. 
The  camels  groan  with  rage  and  pain 
To  feel  the  hated  load  again. 
The  driver's  curse  rings  loud  and  clear ; 
O'er  all,  the  voice  of  the  Khrebir, 
Bidding  the  lagging  line  move  on, 
Ere  .the  fresh  morning  hour  be  gone. 
Now,  through  the  fertile  vale  they  wind, 
But  soon  must  leave  its  wealth  behind. 
To-day  their  toilsome  journey  leads 
O'er  arid  sands,  through  rocky  beds 
Of  torrents  bare,  so  rough  and  steep, 


116  WOLFE   OF   THE   KNOLL. 

The  camel  scarce  his  foot  may  keep. 
But  in  the  desert,  at  this  hour, 
The  wanderer  feels  unwonted  power. 
He  counteth  not  the  weary  leagues, 
Recks  not  of  dangers  or  fatigues. 
How  doth  the  heart  of  Ishmael's  child 
Bound,  to  behold  his  native  wild 
In  the  fair  morning  light  spread  out ! 
He  fills  the  air  with  song  and  shout ! 

Oh,  would' st  thou  taste  the  highest  bliss 
That  freedom  on  the  soul  bestows, 
Go  forth  into  the  wilderness, 
When  the  first  day-born  zephyr  blows  ! 
There  shalt  thou  feel  thy  Psyche-wings 
Lift  thee  above  all  earthly  things  ! 
But  ah,  they  shall  not  bear  thee  long, 
For  Phoebus,  wroth  at  human  pride, 
Will  smite  thee,  with  a  beam  as  strong 
As  that  by  which  young  Icarus  died, 


THE   CARAVAN.  117 

And  thou  shalt  fall  to  earth  again, 
A  mortal  wrung  with  want  and  pain  ! 

Even  Melleff  felt  his  heart  more  light 
Than  'neath  the  curtain  of  the  night ; 
There  seemed  a  tender  presence  near, 
That  with  sweet  promise  filled  his  ear — 
Promise  of  liberty  and  home  ! 
Thought  of  his  mother  scarce  was  gloom — - 
Not  greatly  generous  hearts  complain 
For  those  for  whom  to  die  is  gain. — 
That  midnight  whisper,  breathing  low 
Of  cheer  and  love — oh,  might  he  know 
If  it  were  hers !  he  will  obey, 
Howe'er  it  be,  and  hope  and  pray  ! 
With  clearer  brow  and  footstep  strong 
He  follows  now  that  servile  throng. 

Heavily  doth  the  mid-day  pass, 

When  earth  and  heaven  alike  are  brass. 


118  WOLFE   OF   THE   KNOLL. 

The  Arab's  song  is  hushed  ;  no  sound 

Breaketh  the  awful  stillness  round, 

Save  the  slow  camel's  drowsy  tread 

Across  the  plain  so  dry  and  dead, 

And  the  sand's  rustle,  falling  back 

As  the  foot  leaves  the  indented  track. 

There  is  no  shade  in  earth  or  sky, 

On  which  to  rest  the  aching  eye. 

On  every  side  a  fiery  glare, 

A  quivering  glimmer  in  the  air, 

As  if  even  air  would  waste  away 

In  that  fierce,  endless  noontide  ray  ! 

The  glowing  sands  are  heavenward  whirled 

In  lofty  columns  tinged  with  flame, 

As  if  from  out  the  kindling  world 

The  smoke  of  its  last  burning  came  ! 

Poor  Melleflf,  late  of  strength  so  high, 

Now  child-weak,  faints  as  death  were  nigh. 

But  see,  across  his  languid  face 

A  sudden  flush  of  rapture  pass  ! 


THE   CARAVAN.  119 

He  lifts  his  sinking  head,  and  cries  : 

"  Lo,  yonder  the  fair  water  lies  !  " 

Not  gladder  those  old  Greeks  than  he, 

When  first  they  saw  '  the  sea  !  the  sea ! ' 

Alas,  O  Melleff,  thou  art  mocked ! 

Those  towers,  that  lake,  those  boats  wave-rocked, 

Those  islands  plumed  with  forests  tall — 

They  are  but  empty  phantoms  all ! 

Would  we  with  words  that  fancy  cure  ? 

As  well  bid  the  young  heart  be  sure 

Life  will  not  her  fair  promise  keep, 

But  leave  all  eyes  at  last  to  weep  ! 

Oh,  'tis  not  thus  that  we  may  learn 

Our  souls  from  vanity  to  turn  ; 

Each  for  himself  must  test  the  show, 

And  truth  by  stern  experience  know. 

Oft  must  the  desert- wanderer  prove 

The  stately  castle,  verdant  grove, 

The  clear,  bright  lake,  the  boundless  sea, 

To  be  a  cruel  mockery, 


120  WOLFE   OF   THE   KNOLL. 

Before  those  cheating  shadows  will 
Cease  with  vain  hopes  his  soul  to  fill ! 

Lo,  fading  is  that  vision  fair  ! 

There  is  a  light  stir  in  the  air, 

A  faint,  hot  sigh,  and  all  again 

Is  still — as  vainly  nature  then 

Strove  to  dissolve  the  fatal  spell, 

And  back  to  endless  silence  fell. 

Another — a  more  stifling  blast, 

Now  gust  on  gust  is  following  fast ! 

'Tis  the  thick  breath  of  the  simoom, 

In  cloudy  volumes  rolling  by, 

Tilling  the  air  with  lurid  gloom 

That  shrouds  alike  the  earth  and  sky. 

The  camels  from  the  smothering  gale 

Tarn  gasping,  while  the  Arabs  veil 

With  thickest  folds  the  averted  face, 

And  man  and  beast  stand  motionless. 

Fierce  was  the  sand-storm — but  soon  past ; 


THE   CARAVAN.  121 

Again  the  slow  lines  onward  stretch 
In  moody  silence,  till  at  last 
The  longed-for  resting-place  they  reach  ; 
While,  sun-touched  still,  the  eye  may  scan 
The  far-off  towers  of  Kairouan.* 

Beneath  a  thin  acacia's  shade, 
The  captive  laid  his  burning  head, 
And  prayed  for  death.     His  weary  feet 
Were  blistered  by  the  scorching  heat 
Of  flint  and  sand,  through  which,  unshod, 
With  bleeding  step  he  long  had  trod. 
Speechless,  the  parched  and  stiffened  tongue 
To  the  mouth  dry  and  fevered  clung  ; 
The  swollen,  cracked  lips  were  purple  grown, 
The  eyes,  that  once  as  purely  shone 
As  sapphire  in  a  crystal  sea, 
Had  lost  their  dewy  brilliancy  ; 


*  Kairouan,  situated  in  a  sterile  sandy  plain,  almost  entirely  without 
vegetation,  was  the  African  capital  of  the  Moslem  conquerors  in  the  eighth 
and  ninth  centuries. 

6 


122  WOLFE   OF   THE   KNOLL. 

The  glazed  and  heavy  orbs,  grown  dim, 
Seemed  in  a  pool  of  blood  to  swim  ; 
A  fiery  current  coursed  each  vein, 
With  quick,  hot  throbbings  beat  his  brain, 
Bewildered  thought  from  side  to  side 
Flew  hurriedly,  but  nought  descried 
Save  threatening  phantoms  of  distress, 
Then  sank  to  dark  unconsciousness. 
Around  the  sleeper  all  is  life, 
Command,  and  curse,  and  quarrel  rife. 
The  Bey's  green  tents  are  pitched  in  haste, 
With  care  mats,  skins  and  cushions  placed. 
But  for  the  rest,  a  single  man 
Alone  of  all  the  caravan 
May  claim  such  comforts — the  Khrebir, 
The  leader  whom  they  all  revere — 
For  well  they  know  the  proverb  wise, 
That  thus  the  Arab  doth  advise : 
'  If  thou  must  needs  a  journey  make, 
Then  to  thyself  companions  take. 


THE  CAKAVAN.  123 

Alone,  a  demon  doth  pursue  ; 
With  pilgrims  twain  are  tempters  two  ; 
And  when  the  number  swells  to  three, 
Let  one  the  chosen  chieftain  be.'  * 
To  him  they  give  obedience  meet, 
Spread  the  soft  carpet  for  a  seat, 
And  shelter  him  from  cold  and  heat. 
Some  from  their  loads  the  camels  free, 
And  bind  with  cords  the  bended  knee, 
That  none  from  the  encampment  stray, 
And  to  marauders  fall  a  prey. 
The  slaves  are  scattered  o'er  the  plain 
In  eager  search — nor  quite  in  vain, — 
For  desert-shrubs  that  serve  to  light 

O 

The  needful  watchfires  of  the  night, 

And  with  whose  brisk  and  crackling  blaze, 

Though  short-lived,  they  have  learned  to  raise 

*  The  Prophet  has  said  :  "  Begin  your  journeys  on  Friday,  and  always 
with  company.    Alone,  a  demon  follows  you  ;  if  ye  are  two,  two  demons       \ 
do  tempt  you ;  and  when  ye  are  three,  choose  to  you  a  chief."  «— "^ 


124:  WOLFE   OF   THE   KNOLL. 

The  steaming  odors,  that  so  deep 

In  Mocha's  priceless  berry  sleep. 

Its  fragrance  now  is  on  the  air, 

And  straight  the  tiny  cup  they  bear 

To  their  tired  lords,  who  glad  lay  by 

Their  pipes  for  this  blest  luxury. 

The  servants  then  their  thirst  assuage 

With  the  same  precious  beverage. 

This  done,  the  savory  meats  they  dress, 

By  Arabs  of  the  wilderness 

So  prized.     Meanwhile,  from  her  employ 

A  negro  girl  young  Fatmeh  calls, 

And  bids  her  nurse  the  Christian  boy. 

Upon  her  knee  Ayesha  falls 

Beside  that  form  insensible, 

And  marks  the  troubled  breathing  well. 

Then  lifting  from  the  torrid  sand 

The  languid  head,  with  gentle  hand, 

Gives  to  his  lips  the  welcome  draught, 

Which  but  half  consciously  is  quaffed. 


THE   CAKAVAN.  125 

When  from  the  sky  the  red  sun  passed, 
And  night  with  sudden  chill  came  fast, 
O'er  him  the  warm  caftan  she  spread, 
A  folded  mat  sustained  his  head, 
And  blessed  sleep  soon  chased  away 
The  image  of  that  fearful  day. 

Now  bright  the  ruddy  camp-fires  burn  ! 
Around,  the  watchers,  each  in  turn, 
Tell  their  wild  tales  of  love  or  war, 
Or  hidden  treasures,*  such  as  are 
Only  to  Christian  magi  known, 
And  at  whose  potent  call  alone 
The  gorgeous  jewels  will  gush  forth, 
In  shining  streams,  from  the  dark  earth ; 
Then  on  the  sparkling  flood  shall  roll, 
Nor  mountain  bar  nor  sea  control, 
Till  it  hath  reached  the  Christian  shore, 

*  Traditions  of  immense  treasure  hidden  in  the  depths  of  the  earth,  or 
inclosed  in  the  solid  rock,  and  which  can  be  discovered  only  by  Christian 
sages,  are  very  current  in  Africa. 


126  WOLFE   OF  THE  KNOLL. 

On  Frankistan  its  wealth  to  pour — 
Whose  voice  upon  the  night  doth  break  1 
"  Ho,  watchman  !  sleep  ye  now  or  wake  ? 
They  know  their  faithful  leader's  cry, 
And  with  assuring  shouts  reply, 
Eetrim  the  wasting  fires,  and  then 
Take  up  the  half-told  tale  again. 
But  hark  !  from  out  the  circling  gloom, 
A  note  that  shakes  like  trump  of  doom  ! 
Watchers  and  sleepers  at  the  sound 
Start  to  their  feet  with  headlong  bound ; 
The  ready  muskets  blazing  ring 
On  every  side ;  the  watch-fires  fling 
Their  mounting  wings  of  crimson  light 
Far  out  upon  the  sullen  night ; 
The  camel  with  deep  shuddering  moans 
The  presence  of  his  monarch  owns, 
While  human  shouts  ascending  high 
Declare  that  nobler  man  is  nigh, 
And  warn  the  royal  beast  to  fly. 


127 


THE   CARAVAN. 

lie  hears — he  that  for  peer  alone 
The  son  of  woman  deigns  to  own — * 
Nor  for  such  foe  will  longer  stay, 
But  back  to  darkness  stalks  away. 


*  When  the  lion  roars,  the  Arabs  pretend  to  distinguish  the  words 
"  ahna  ou  ben  el  mera.  I  and  the  son  of  the  woman."  Ahna  (I)  he  utters 
but  once,  but  he  repeats  "  the  son  of  the  woman,"  whence  it  is  inferred 
that  he  recognizes  man  as  his  superior. 


CANTO   VII. 

THE  LETTEE. 

LET  us  fly  from  the  burning  desert  forth, 
For  an  hour  to  the  cool  and  showery  North  ! 
From  the  jackal's  cry,  from  the  lion's  roar, 
To  the  billows  that  break  on  a  troubled  shore — 
Hear  the  scream  of  the  sea-mew  wild,  instead 
Of  the  vulture's  flap  o'er  the  carcass  dead — 
Leave  the  sandy  couch,  where  the  captive  sleeps, 
For  the  knoll  where  his  watch  the  father  keeps  ! 

There  still  the  patient  father  stands 
^  Where  first  we  marked  him,  on  the  down, 
And  of  each  passing  sail  demands 
If  it  bear  tidings  of  his  son. 


THE   LETTEK. 

Again  the  fair  midsummer-tide 
Shines,  as  when  Melleff  left  his  side, 
So  bold,  so  full  of  hope  to  earn 
Such  mead  for  toils  he  longed  to  bear, 
That  he  full  shortly  might  return 
To  free  his  father's  age  from  care  ! 
Where  is  he  now  1  how  deep  this  thought 
In  every  feature  is  inwrought ! 
But  on  that  withered  cheek  a  beam 
Of  fresher  hue  methinks  doth  glow. 
Oh,  is  it  not  the  trembling  gleam 
Keflected  from  hope's  radiant  bow  ? 
Aye,  and  his  eye  is  dim  and  bright 
By  turns  from  that  same  changeful  light. 
Hath  some  late  news  of  his  lost  boy 
Shed  on  his  heart  this  doubtful  joy  ? 

But  see  !  he  leaves  the  twilight  shore, 
Across  the  winding  creek  is  gone 

Toward  a  kind  neighbor's  friendly  door, 
6* 


12!) 


130  WOLFE   OF   THE   KNOLL, 

That  never  bar  or  bolt  hath  known. 
A  moment  let  us  enter  there, 
Before  the  guest's  slow  foot  draws  nigh. 
It  is  the  hour  of  evening  prayer, 
And  its  deep  tones  fill  solemnly 
The  hushed  space  of  the  dusky  room, 
Half-curtained  by  the  twilight  gloom ; 
But  still  around  each  kneeler's  head 
A  shimmer  of  the  evening  red 
Doth  linger.     By  its  fading  light 
Their  number  we  may  tell  aright. 
The  father  first,  whose  silver  hair 
Gleams  like  a  saintly  glory  there, 
And  near  him,  touched  by  the  same  ray, 
A  child's  unquiet  tresses  play. 
Next,  side  by  side,  two  sisters  meek 
A  blessing  on  the  absent  seek, 
Each  in  a  mourning  vesture  clad — 
Well  may  they  wear  those  garments  sad  ! 
A  husband's  coming  one  doth  wait ; 


THE   LETTEK. 

The  other  for  a  lover  sighs 
Whose  parting  sail  to-day  was  set, 
Just  lost  to  her  pursuing  eyes. 
Are  there  no  more  ?     A  low  amen 
Comes  from  a  shadowy  corner,  when 
The  father's  simple  prayer  is  done — 
It  is  the  mother's  feeble  tone  ! 
Within  that  arm-chair—curious  wrought 
By  hands  that  have  their  craft  forgot 
For  centuries — sits  the  aged  dame, 
And  thus  hath  sat  for  years  the  same. 
Ere  icy-fingered  Time  could  dare 
To  frost  one  thread  of  her  dark  hair, 
Or  draw  one  line  across  the  brow 
So  deeply  scored  with  furrows  now, 
The  arrows  of  disease  pierced  sore 
That  shrinking  frame,  and  evermore 
His  patient  thrall  she  bideth  still, 
Waiting  with  cheerful  courage,  till 


132  WOLFE   OF   THE   KNOLL. 

He  who  set  Abraham's  daughter  free, 
Loose  her  from  her  infirmity. 

Soon  as  the  worshippers  arise, 

The  glad  child  to  the  window  flies, 

And,  leaning  through  the  open  sash, 

Watches  the  billows'  foamy  dash, 

But,  most  of  all,  the  evening  sky, 

That  seldom  glows  so  ruddily 

Around  the  chill  and  misty  isle, 

Though  warmed  by  summer's  softest  smile. 

A  growing  wonder  shades  the  joy 

Spread  o'er  the  features  of  the  boy. 

"  O,  grandpapa  !  now  tell  me,  pray, 

Who  takes  the  golden  sun  away, 

And  keeps  it  from  us  all  the  night  ? 

And  what  makes  yonder  sky  so  bright  1  " 

As  moved  by  some  lost  memory, 

The  old  man  smiled,  then  on  his  knee 


THE   LETTER. 

The  little  questioner  he  set, 

And  to  his  daughter  playful  turned, 

Whose  cheeks  with  recent  tears  were  wet, — 

"  Come,  Ola  !  hear  a  tale  I  learned 

Long  since ;  'tis  one  will  suit  thee  well, 

Sit  thou  beside  me  while  I  tell ! " 


133 


MIDSUMMER  TWILIGHT. 

Thou  seest  in  the  West,  where  the  waves  wash  the  sky, 
The  torch  of  the  day-star  at  eve  slow  expiring ; 
Again  dost  behold,  with  thine  opening  eye, 
His  flambeau  rekindled,  the  Orient  firing. 

Hath  any  e'er  shown  thee,  who  quencheth  its  light  1 
E'er  told  thee  of  Quelling,  the  maiden  immortal  1 
Of  Celling,  the  youth,  with  his  locks  amber-bright, 
Who  bears  it,  relighted,  through  Morn's  flashing  portal  ? 


134:  WOLFE   OF   THE   KNOLL. 

Then  hear  how  the  bards  of  the  North  tell  the  talc  : 
When  Allfather's  work  of  creation  was  ended, 
That  daylight  and  darkness  in  turn  should  not  fail, 
He  called  two  fair  spirits  that  round  him  attended. 

To  rosy  young  Quelling,  his  loveliest  child, 
A  virgin  whose  birthright  was  beauty  eternal, 
He  spoke  thus,  in  accents  paternally  mild: 
"  My  daughter,  behold,  this  thy  duty  diurnal — 

"  To  extinguish  the  torch  of  the  westering  Sun, 

When  earthward  he  leaneth,  with  face  flushed  and  weary ; 

And  keep  it  with  care  till  the  dew-beaded  dawn 

Shall  scatter  dun  Night,  with  her  train  pale  and  dreary." 

To  Delling,  the  first  of  the  heavenly  choir  : 

"  Thine  be  .it,  when  Sol  starteth  up  from  his  sleeping, 

To  bid  the  torch  flame  with  ethereal  fire, 

And  give  it  again  to   his  watchfullest  keeping." 


THE   LETTEK.  135 

The  fair  sky-born  children  since,  ever  in  turn, 
Have  failed  not  to  do  as  Allfather  hath  bidden ; 
At  dawn,  heaven  and  earth  in  the  new  glory  burn  — 
At  evening,  the  red  blaze  is  carefully  hidden. 

When  Nature,  grown  drowsy  and  chill,  seeketh  rest, 
The  torch  for  long  hours  in  deep  darkness  reposes ; 
For  early  its  beam  goeth  out  in  the  West, 
And  late  in  the  East,  Morn's  cold  eyelid  uncloses. 

.*. 

When  Spring's  breath  requickens  each  life-gifted  thing, 
And  Summer  hath  need  of  the  days  long  and  sunny, 
Her  flowers  and  her  fruits  to  perfection  to  bring, 
Eipe  cherries  for  robins,  for  bees  the  sweet  honey — 

Then  early  and  late  stands  the  Sun  in  the  skies, 
Still  pouring  his  warm  rays  on  meadow  and  river  ; — 
To  paint  rose  and  lily  with  loveliest  dyes, 
And  gild  the  bright  cornfield,  he  wearieth  never. 


136  WOLFE   OF   THE    KNOLL. 

Brief  then  are  the  moments  of  silence  and  shade, 
Still  flickers  the  torch  just  inverted  by  Quelling, 
When  clear  the  birds'  matin-song  swells  from  the  glade, 
The  fire  glows  again,  held  aloft  by  blithe  Delling. 

It  chanced  at  this  sweetest  of  seasons,  more  praised, 
More  sung  by  the  poets  than  ever  another, 
The  watchers,  star-crowned,  once  too  earnestly  gazed, 
Too  long,  in  the  clear,  deep,  brown  eyes  of  each  other. 

When  Delling  reached  forth  for  the  languishing  flame, 
He  pressed  the  white  hand  that  the  maiden  extended, 
Then  forward  he  stooped,  and  his  ruddy  lips  came 
Nigh- hers  and  more  nigh,  till  in  kisses  they  blended. 

On  Quell  ing's  soft  cheek  burncth  crimson  a  blush, 
Till,  skyward  reflected,  it  reaches  the  zenith ; 
There  mirrored,  the  fire  of  the  youth  meets  the  flush, 
As  over  her  beauty  still  fondly  he  leaneth. 


THE   LETTER.  137 


But  Odin,  whose  eye  doth  not  slumber  for  aye, 
In  midnight's  short  silence  looked  down  on  their  meeting ; 
He  called  them  before  him,  when  shone  the  full  day, 
And  spake  to  them  thus,  with  right  fatherly  greeting : 


.. 


My  children,  with  zeal  my  behest  ye  fulfil, 
And  service  so  faithful  its  recompense  claimeth, 
Nor  fear  that  with  me  it  doth  argue  aught  ill, 
That  Love's  sacred  spark  your  young  bosom  inflameth. 

"  Henceforth  will  I  grant  you,  a  true  wedded  pair, 
Forever  to  dwell  in  a  union  unending, 
Together  all  duty,  all  pleasure  to  share, 
Still  closer  and  closer  your  souls  ever  blending." 

• 

The  lovers  were  silent — then  lowly  they  knelt — 
"  Allfather  forgive — hear  the  prayer  that  we  offer  ! 
Such  bliss  in  the  kiss  of  betrothal  we  felt, 
We  would  not  exchange  it  for  all  thou  dost  proffer. 


138  WOLFE    OF   THE   KNOLL. 

"  Oh,  grant  us  forever  affianced  to  live, 
And  yearly,  when  Earth  in  her  summer  robe  dresses, 
For  largess  more  ample,  this  simple  boon  give, 
Our  hands  let  us  join,  let  our  lips  meet  in  kisses ! " 

Then  Allfather  smiled  on  the  suppliant  pair, 
And  blessed  the  sweet  bond  of  their  hearts'  happy  choosing — 
Could  any  who  heard  them  breathe  forth  that  meek  prayer, 
A  joy  such  as  theirs  think  it  blame  to  fear  losing  1 

Ever  since,  when  their  season  of  tryst  cometh  round, 
Kind  Nature  pours  forth  her  best  treasures  to  grace  it, 
Her  brightest  of  beauty,  her  sweetest  of  sound, 
And  ne'er  suffers  frost  or  chill  mist  to  deface  it. 

Know,  then,  when  thou  seest  still  at  midsummer's  tide 
A  flush  in  the  West,  when  the  red  dawn  is  breaking, 
'Tis  the  glow  of  the  youth,  'tis  the  blush  of  his  bride, 
New  troth- vows  the  lovers  immortal  arc  making  !  * 


*  The  Legend  of  the  Midsummer  Twilight  is  given  in  Kohl  II.,  278. 
It  is  of  Esthonian  origin,  and  the  names  of  the  youth  and  maiden  are  Koit 


THE   LETTER.  139 

Wearily  up  the  cottage  mound 
Old  Wolfe,  with  feeble  footsteps,  wound, 
And  now  within  the  door  doth  stand, 
And  now  receives  the  welcoming  hand. 
"  Neighbor,  my  errand  thou  canst  guess  ! 
Have  patience  with  my  childishness, 
And,  prithee,  let  me  hear  once  more 
What  thou  hast  read  me  o'er  and  o'er 
Of  my  poor  boy.     I  cannot  choose 
But  marvel  that  he  sends  no  news 
From  his  own  hand.     The  boy  could  write 
Fair  as  the  pastor ;  and  when  night 
Her  curtains  dark  doth  downward  roll, 
Strange  doubts  arise  within  my  soul, 

and  Aemmarik.  These  names  are,  like  Equotuticum — quod  versa  dicere 
non  est — not  well  suited  to  English  verse,  and  therefore  the  author  has 
substituted  for  them  Delling  (Icelandic  Dellingr,  formed  from  dagr,  day, 
the  appellation  of  the  Scandinavian  god  of  day,  and  Quelling,  a  corre 
sponding  derivative  from  qveld  (kveld,  qvolld),  evening.  Those  un 
acquainted  with  the  Northern  languages  may  suppose  it  a  violation  of  cos- 
lume  to  employ  Sol  as  the  name  of  the  sun  in  a  "story  with  a  Scandi 
navian  machinery ;  but  the  sun  is  called  Sol  in  Icelandic  as  well  as  in 
Latin. 


140  WOLFE   OF   THE   KNOLL. 

Misgivings,  fears  that  will  not  end — " 
"  Thy  letter,  daughter  !  "  said  the  friend. 
The  youthful  matron  pushed  aside  her  wheel. 
And  brought,  with  wifely  pride, 
The  sheet  that,  in  its  careful  folds, 
Treasures  of  love  and  promise  holds. 
Thus  writes  the  husband :  "  If  God  please, 
We  soon  shall  leave  the  Midland  seas 
For  home.     Young  MellefF,  sought  in  vain 
So  long,  is  found,  is  free  again, 
And  in  our  ship  for  Hamburg  sails. 
Heaven  speed  her  on  with  favoring  gales !-" 


CANTO    VIII. 

THE  CHASE. 

'NEATH  Nefta's  palms  they  slowly  walked — 

The  foster-mother  and  her  child — 

And  earnestly  together  talked, 

While  ruddy  morning  round  them  smiled. 

"  The  Christian  Melleff,"  said  the  maid, 

"  We  miss  from  haunts  where  late  he  strayed. 

The  roses  on  the  outer  wall, 

That  were  his  charge  to  train  and  dress, 

Upon  the  earth  neglected  fall — 

The  garden  grows  a  wilderness. 

Hath  sickness  smitten  ? — or  thy  hands — 

O  Gerda  !  have  they  loosed  his  bands  ?  " 


142  WOLFE   OF   THE   KNOLL. 

"  Nay  !  nay  !  these  hands  in  youth  were  found 

Too  weak  to  burst  the  cords  that  bound. 

Now,  trembling  fast  with  age  and  pain, 

How  should  they  break  another's  chain  ? 

I  too  have  questioned,  and  they  say 

He  stands  of  late  before  the  Bey. 

For  Fatmeh  !  know,  I  more  than  share 

For  Melleff  all  thy  watchful  care. 

Child  of  my  poor  lost  child,  to  me 

Dearer  than  all  on  earth  save  thee  ! — 

Thou  hast  no  words  for  wonder !  stay — 

My  tale  thou'lt  hear  another  day. 

Enough,  enough,  that  now  I  show 

One  chapter  of  my  early  woe. 

They  tore  me  from  my  babe,  my  joy — 

Her,  since  the  mother  of  this  boy — 

From  him  I  learned  that  mother's  name, 

Her  orphan  state,  and  whence  she  came1. 

Then  through  my  soul  there  shot  a  light, 

As  if  the  noon  should  flash  on  night. 


THE  CHASE. 

I  thought — age  too  hath  dreams  so  wild — 
I  might  again  behold  my  child, 
With  Melleff  go — his  freedom  won — 
And  to  her  arms  restore  her  son ! 
Breathless  I  sought  the  crowded  quay 
Where  many  a  merchant  flag  waved  free, 
One  from  the  North — the  master  '  well 

Knew  Wolfe  and  would  not  fail  to  tell 

Of  his  boy's  bondage  ; '    "  Ah,"  he  cried, 

"  Now  is  it  well  the  mother  died 

Ere  this  could  reach  her  !  "— "  Is  she  dead  1 " 

Gaspingly,  shudderingly  I  said. 

He  answered,  and  I  turned,  once  more 

All  crushed  and  hopeless,  from  the  shore. — 

Peace  has  returned.     Now  am  I  blest 

To  know  my  Mary  is  at  rest. 

I  follow  soon — but  I  would  see, 

Ere  I  depart,  her  Mellefffree  ! 

No  ransom  comes — and  thou,  once  more, 

O  Fatmeh,  shalt  the  Bey  implore. 


143 


144:  WOLFE   OF   THE   KNOLL. 

Where  childhood's  timid  prayers  could  fail, 
Thy  woman's  tears  may  still  prevail " — 
Young  Fatmeh's  face  grew  deadly  pale. 

"  Up  ye  now  !  saddle  the  steeds  that  are  fleetest ! 
Steeds  for  the  chase  of  the  camel-bird  meetest ! 
See  that  my  tents  fleck  the  desert's  red  border 
Ere  the  gray  nightfall ! " — so  ran  the  Bey's  order. 

Ere  the  gray  nightfall,  his  green  tents  were  planted 
Far  to  the  south,  where  the  setting  sun  slanted 
Arrows  of  fire  o'er  a  golden- waved  ocean 
Solid  as  jasper,  no  sound  and  no  motion. 

Far  to  the  south,  where  the  clouds  yester-even 
Marshalled  their  ranks  by  the  light  of  the  levin  ; 
Thither  the  rain-loving  ostrich  hath  sped  her, 
Swift  as  the  flash  of  the  bright  bolt  that  led  her.* 

*  The  ostrich  is  generally  found  where  showers  of  rain  have  lately  fallen. 
According  to  the  Arabs,  when  the  ostrich  sees  the  lightning  and  a  gather 
ing  storm,  she  runs  in  the  direction  where  it  appears,  however  distant  it 
may  be.  A  ten  days'  journey  (of  a  caravan)  is  but  a  trifle  for  her.  They 
say  of  a  man  who  is  skilful  in  providing  for  his  flocks  in  the  desert,  "  He 
is  like  the  ostrich  ;  where  he  sees  the  lightning  flash,  there  he  is." 


THE   CHASE.  145 

Fleet  is  the  game  they  will  hunt  on  the  morrow ; 
Rider  and  horse,  let  them  hasten  to  borrow 
Strength  from  repose,  ere  the  white  robe  of  morning, 
Seen  from  afar,  of  the  chase  giveth  warning. 

Wake  !  for  her  silvery  mantle  is  gleaming, 
O'er  it  her  tresses  of  amber  are  streaming, 
Upward  on  iris-hued  pinions  she  springeth, 
Pearls  o'er  oasis  and  palm-grove  she  flingeth  ! 

Cast  off  the  haik  !    Be  your  girdle  the  tightest, 
Saddle  and  bridle  and  stirrup  the  lightest, 
Look  to  the  weight  of  the  weapon  ye  carry, 
Lose  not  a  moment !     Lo,  yonder  the  quarry  ! 

Swift  as  a  shaft  from  the  bow  of  Apollo,    • 

Forth  darts  the  ostrich,  the  snorting  steeds  follow ; 

Sail-like,  her  white,  curling  pinions  she  spreadeth — 

Is  it  the  earth,  or  the  air  that  she  treadeth  1 

7 


14:6  WOLFE   OF   THE   KNOLL. 

Fast  on  her  foremost  pursuer  she  gaineth, 
Vainly  each  nerve  and  each  muscle  he  straincth, 
Vainly,  with  nostrils  dilated,  he  drinketh 
Draughts  of  the  wind  * — lo,  he  reeleth,  he  sinketh  ! 

Mark  how  the  wile  of  the  sportsman  appeareth  !  f 
Yonder  white  rock,  that  the  panting  bird  ncareth, 
Shelters  a  courser  as  fresh  as  the  morning — 
Rider  and  roan,  for  the  race  they  are  burning. 

On  like  a  whirlwind  the  wild  hunter  rushes, 
Now,  now,  the  plumes  of  the  victim  he  brushes  ! 
Too  soon  with  triumph  his  dark  eye  is  bright'ning ! 
Far,  far  before  him  she  sweeps  like  the  lightning  ! 


*  Sherb-el-Rih,  wind-drinker,  is  an  epithet  applied  to  the  swiftest 
horses. 

t  The  ostrich  has  very  little  cunning,  never  doubles  in  her  flight,  but 
depends  on  her  speed  alone,  and  runs  in  a  straight  course.  Several  horse 
men  post  themselves  at  distances  of  about  a  league  from  each  other  on  the 
line  of  flight ;  and  when  one  stops,  the  next  takes  up  the  pursuit,  and  thus 
the  bird  is  constantly  chased  by  fresh  horses.  Of  course  the  last  horse 
man  secures  the  prize. 


THE   CHASE.  147 

Barb  of  the  desert,  thy  breeding  is  noble, 
Yet  hope  thou  not,  though  thy  mettle  were  double, 
E'er  to  o'ertake  the  wing'd  giant  that  races 
Fast  as  the  rack  which  the  hurricane  chases ! 

Once  more  from  ambush  a  horseman  outleapeth  ; 
Thine,  gallant  gray,  is  the  foot  that  outstrippeth 
Samiel,  the  sun-born  ;  now  prove  what  thou  darest ; 
On  for  the  prize  !  'tis  thy  master  thou  bearest ! 

Rapid,  direct,  as  the  ball  when  it  flashes 
Out  through  the  smoke-wreath,  the  fiery  Bey  dashes 
Forth  on  the  game,  that  yet  slacks  not  nor  falters, 
Right-ward  or  left-ward  her  course  never  alters. 

Sky,  air  and  earth  in  the  noontide  are  seething, 
Stifling  and  hot  is  the  dust-cloud  they're  breathing, — 
Little  reck  they  of  the  shrivelling  heaven, 
Heed  not  the  fire-shower  that  o'er  them  is  driven ! 


148  WOLFE   OF   THE   KNOLL. 

Hour  after  hour  the  pursued  and  pursuing 
Scour  o'er  the  sand-waste,  their  speed  still  renewing  ; 
Foam-mantled  steed,  how  thy  sobbing  gasps  thicken  ! 
Bird  of  the  Sahara,  thy  lagging  steps  quicken, 

So  art  thou  safe !    'Tis  too  late  !  lo,  already 
Trail  her  fringed  wings,  and  her  foot  is  unsteady  ! 
Blindly  she  staggers,  she  seeketh  to  hide  her  ! 
Courage,  bold  gray,  and  thou  soon  art  beside  her  ! 

Headlong  she  rolleth,  still  fluttering  and  shivering, 
O'er  her  the  courser  stands  panting  and  quivering, 
Aali  hath  lifted  his  weapon,  she  boundeth 
High  in  the  death-throe,  her  flapping  wing  soundeth 

Hoarse  as  the  tempest ;  the  frightened  steed  starteth,* 
Swerves,  plunges,  rears,  till  the  saddle-girth  parteth ; 
Off  springs  his  lord,  down  the  barb  droppeth  dying, 
Courser  and  camel-bird  side  by  side  lying ! 

*  The  victory  is  not  without  danger.  The  fluttering  of  the  bird's  wings, 
as  she  falls,  inspires  the  horse  with  a  sudden  terror,  which  often  proves 
fatal  to  the  rider. 


THE   CHASE.  149 

The  chase  is  o'er,  the  fiery  day 
To  night's  cool  splendors  fast  gives  way. 
Aali  commands  his  weary  train 
To  seek  Sheikh  Moosa's  tents  again ; 
There  yesternoon  the  generous  chief 
To  every  want  gave  prompt  relief, 
And  there  the  pacha  will  abide 
Till  the  red  flush  of  morning-tide. 

Didst  e'er  tnose  valleys  green  behold, 

Of  Desert  Araby  the  pride, 

By  glowing  hills  encircled  wide, 

Like  emeralds  set  in  chiselled  gold  1 

Didst  ever  there  at  evening  lie 

And  watch,  beneath  a  royal  palm, 

How  the  great  moon  came  up  the  sky 

In  all  her  majesty  of  calm, 

Yet  shedding  beams  as  bright  as  those 

Shot  from  Prince  Arthur's  flaming  shield, 


150  WOLFE   OF   THE   KNOLL. 

When  he  unveiled  it  to  his  foes 
And  left  them  sightless  on  the  field  ? 
There  hast  thou  heard,  the  livelong  night, 
The  shrill  cicala's  quavering  lay, — 
She  could  not  know  such  glorious  light 
Was  not  indeed  the  golden  day  ! — 
And  hast  thou  marked  the  slender  thread 
Of  crystal  shining  at  thy  feet, 
Winding  along  its  agate  bed 
With  flow  so  soft,  so  silvery  sweet, 
While  the  lush  oleander  gazed, 
By  her  own  wondrous  beauty  dazed, 
Into  the  watery  mirror  clear, 
Where  all  her  lovely  blooms  appear  ? 
In  such  a  vale  Sheikh  Moosa  rests, 
On  such  a  night  receives  his  guests. 

Stately  the  welcome  that  he  gave, 
Such  as  became  a  patriarch  grave. 
"  Be  Allah's  peace  upon  thy  head  !  " 


THE   CHASE.  151 

"  Nor  less  on  thine  that  peace  be  shed  !  " 

"  O  Bey  !  lo,  all  that  late  was  mine, 
My  flocks,  my  herds,  my  tents  are  thine ! 
The  meanest  slave  that  follows  thee 
Shall  hunger  not,  nor  thirst  with  me." 

"  O  master  of  the  tent !  "  replied 
The  Bey,  "  thy  courtesy  was  tried 
But  late  ;  our  presence  here  to-night 
Proves  that  we  value  it  aright." 

Then  Aali  to  his  tent  repairs, 
While  for  his  guest  Sheikh  Moosa  cares, 
He  bids  his  servants  haste  to  bring 
Fair  water  from  the  living  spring, 
So  grateful  to  the  traveller's  feet 
After  such  day  of  toil  and  heat. 
Then  smoking  viands  follow  fast 
And  long,  till  milk  and  dates  at  last 
Conclude  the  generous  repast. 


152  WOLFE   OF  THE   KNOLL. 

Tunisia's  lord  doth  here  abate 
Somewhat  of  his  accustomed  state, 
For  he  has  learned  that  fiery  blood 
Of  Bedouin  brooks  not  haughty  mood, 
And  willingly  he  would  not  know 
A  powerful  desert  chief  his  foe. 
Now  he  demands  with  kindly  air, 
"  How  doth  thy  little  warrior  fare — 
The  boy  that  yesterday  did  ride 
So  proud  and  fearless  by  thy  side, 
And  with  his  mimic  martial  play 
Made  every  heart  around  him  gay  ?  " 

The  sheikh  replied,  "  At  this  late  hour 
He  slumbers  in  his  mother's  bower  ; 
But  if  my  lord  till  dawn  remain, 
He  shall  behold  the  child  again." 

With  the  long  day's  rude  pleasures  spent, 
On  carpet  soft  the  Bey  now  sleeps, 


THE   CHASE.  153 

And  ever  round  his  princely  tent 
A  faithful  watch  Sheikh  Moosa  keeps. 
The  azure  field  above  it  spread 
Hangs  not  more  silent  overhead, 
Than  lies  the  little  vale  below 
Till  the  dawn  lifts  her  jewelled  brow, 
And  bids  the  morning-star  that  waits 
Throw  wide  the  Orient's  shining  gates. 
Then  from  his  couch  doth  Aali  start, 
And  give  the  signal  to  depart. 

His  morning  orisons  were  o'er, 

His  chafing  steed  at  the  tent-door ; 

Leave  of  his  host  he  turned  to  take, 

And  courteous  were  the  words  he  spake ;         * 

Fair  wishes  many,  thanks  were  none — 

The  Moslem  thanks  his  God  alone. 

The  sheikh  made  answer,  "  Hear,  O  Bey  ! 

And  for  a  moment  yet  delay. 
7* 


154:  WOLFE   OF   THE   KNOLL. 

Thou  art  my  guest  since  yestereven, 

And  I,  with  Allah's  aid,  have  striven 

Our  Prophet's  precept  to  fulfil, 

And  keep  thee  from  all  pain  and  ill. 

Such  duty  may  not  be  discussed, 

The  guest  is  Allah's  sacred  trust. 

If  then  the  service  of  this  night 

Hath  found  acceptance  in  thy  sight, 

I  pray  thee  with  thy  presence  deign 

To  grace  a  mournful  funeral  train." 

He  paused,  his  pale  lips  trembled  fast, 

And  through  his  frame  a  shudder  passed. 

Then  calm  resuming,  "  Know,"  he  said, 

"  The  child  that  won  thy  praise  is  dead ! 

The  noonday  sun  shot  through  his  brain 

A  deadly  dart  of  mortal  pain ; 

An  hour  before  thy  horses'  tread 

Sounded  afar,  his  spirit  fled. 

So  Allah  willed  it !     Bo  it  so  ! 

Who  but  the  all-knowing  God  should  know 


THE   CHASE.  155 

Whether  we  need  or  joy  or  woe ! 
But  when  thy  train  came  up  the  vale, 
I  bade  the  women  cease  their  wail — 
Even  the  poor  mother,  wild  with  woe, 
I  charged  her  outcries  to  forego ; 
And  to  secure  obedience,  swore 
That  if  one  sob  of  hers  my  guest 
Should  reach,  to  trouble  feast  or  rest, 
Henceforth  she  was  my  wife  no  more ! 
Thou  knowest,  O  Bey,  if  sound  or  sight 
Of  grief  hath  touched  thy  heart  this  night ! 
Then  join  thy  faithful  prayers  with  mine, 
That  on  the  dead  God's  face  may  shine  ! " 

The  Bey  stood  speechless  as  in  trance, 
Wonder  and  pity  in  his  glance, 
Then,  "  'Tis  the  will  of  God !  "  he  said, 
And  followed  where  Sheikh  Moosa  led. 

Within  the  tent  of  grief  they  stand ; 
On  a  rich  mat  the  fair  child  lies ; 


156  WOLFE   OF  THE   KNOLL. 

Circling  him  round  in  double  band 
The  wallers  rend  the  air  with  cries. 
"  Alas,  for  him  ! "  the  mother  moans, 
"  Alas,  for  him ! "  a  weeper  groans, 
"  Alas,  for  him ! "    in  chorus  wild 
They  shriek,  "  Alas,  alas  the  child !  " 
Calmly  the  sleeper  sleeps  the  while, 
And  smiles  great  Azrael's  heavenly  smile. 
They  shower  upon  his  marble  breast 
The  costliest  spices  of  the  East ; 
Around  the  little  form  they  wind 
The  richest  broideries  of  Ind  ; 
Then  raise  the  mat  with  tender  care, 
And  forth  the  mournful  burden  bear. 

Louder  and  shriller  swells  the  wail ; 
Wildly,  in  sign  of  heaviest  bale, 
The  women  toss  their  kerchiefs  blue, 
Then  beat  their  breasts,  their  shrieks  renew. 


THE   CHASE.  157 

But  hark  !  the  Moolah  strikes  the  chant ! 
The  mourners  cease  their  piercing  plaint. 
"  Allah  is  great !     His  will  be  done  !  " — 
So  did  the  solemn  chorus  run — - 
"  Allah  is  gracious,  He  doth  give ! 
Is  wise,  He  taketh  when  he  will ! 
Good  at  His  hand  shall  we  receive, 
And  murmur  when  He  sendeth  ill  1 
Let  for  the  child  our  sorrows  cease  ! 
May  Allah  keep  his  soul  in  peace ! " 

While  thus  of  mingled  prayer  and  praise 
The  measured  hymn  to  Heaven  they  raise, 
With  regular  but  rapid  tread 
To  his  last  rest  they  bear  the  dead. 
Too  long  the  parted  soul  doth  wait 
At  the  dark  grave  for  her  lost  mate  ! 
There  the  crushed  bud  with  tearful  rite 
They  hide  forever  from  their  sight. 


158  WOLFE   OF   THE   KNOLL. 

Slowly  and  reverently  the  men 

Turn  backward  to  their  tents  again. 

The  women  linger  still  to  mourn ; 

"  Moon  of  our  darkness,  Oh,  return ! 

O  fountain  of  our  desert,  why, 

Why  is  thy  spring  thus  early  dry  ? 

O  fair  young  palm,  why  didst  thou  fade, 

When  we  were  sporting  'neath  thy  shade  ? 

Why  fall  and  crush  us,  cruel  tree  1 

Did  we  not  love  thee  tenderly, 

Lead  the  sweet  water  to  thy  root, 

That  thou  above  all  palms  mightst  shoot  ? 

Thy  mother  why  didst  thou  forsake, 

And  leave  her  wretched  heart  to  break  ? " 

Awhile  the  Moolah  stands  aloof, 
Then  mildly  speaks  a  grave  reproof; 
"  Ye  women,  trouble  not  the  dead  ! 
He  hath  not  stood  in  Allah's  stead 
To  fix  the  measure  of  his  years ! 


THE   CHASE.  159 

Oh,  dry  your  unavailing  tears ! 

Let  faith  and  prayer  assuage  your  woes, 

And  leave  the  grave  to  its  repose ! " 

Admonished  thus,  their  grief  they  stayed, 
And  silent  there  a  moment  prayed, 
Then  with  sad  looks  still  backward  cast, 
Forth  from  the  place  of  tombs  they  passed. 

Meanwhile  toward  Nefta  rode  the  Bey, 
And  on  his  heart  strange  burden  lay. 
Was  it  the  morning's  sight  of  woe 
That  left   his  sluggish  pulse  so  low  ? 
Aali  was  wont  to  look  on  death, 
And  lightly  valued  life's  poor  breath. 
'Twas  no  weak  terror  of  the  tomb 
That  wrapped  his  spirit  in  this  gloom. 
It  was  the  agony  of  life, 
The  change,  the  chance,  the  mortal  strife, 
That  o'er  the  vision  of  his  soul 


160  WOLFE   OF   THE   KNOLL. 

Swept  like  the  storm-cloud's  onward  roll, 
Casting  its  heavy  shadows  broad, 
Even  o'er  the  path  already  trod 
In  smiling  sunshine,  till  at  last 
In  night  lie  future,  present,  past. 
Haunts  not  as  oft  such  darkening  spell 
The  banquet  as  the  burial  ? 

The  pacha  strove  to  change  his  mood, 
To  see  through  all  the  evil  good ; 
Yet  ever  at  his  heart  there  lay 
A  weight  he  could  not  roll  awray. 
Forward  he  spurs— What  fearful  need 
Doth  urge  yon  horseman's  headlong  speed, 
That  toward  him  rides  1    Behold,  they  meet ! 
The  messenger  lies  at  his  feet — 
Hath  rent  his  robe  with  gesture  wild, 
And  on  his  head  the  dust  hath  piled. 
"  What  are  thy  tidings  ?  varlet,  say  !  " 
Exclaimed  the  darkly-frowning  Bey. 


THE   CHASE. 

"  Alas,  alas  !  O  master  mine . 
And  must  I  give  to  ears  of  thine 
The  tale  I  bring  !    This  night  accursed, 
A  storm  of  desert-robbers  burst 
Upon  our  guards,  who  bled  in  vain. 
Thy  gates  are  forced,  thy  servants  slain. 
Thy  daughter — o'er  the  reeking  dead 
They  leaped,  and  with  their  captive  fled !  " 


CANTO    IX. 

THE  AEKIVAL. 

THE  sea  of  song  and  story,  the  sea  that  knows  no  tide ! 
How  softly  o'er  its  waters  yon  argosy  doth  ride ! 
Her  path  by  fair  Trinacria,  that  queen  of  islands,  lies, 
Where  ^Etna's  smoke-wreathed  forehead  is  lifted  to  the  skies. 
A  breath,  the  mildest,  steadiest  of  summer's'  welcome  gales, 
Hath  smoothed  the  rugged  billows,  and  gently  fans  her  sails. 
No  foam  her  bows  are  shedding;  as  noiseless  doth  she  pass 
As  ship  in  realm  of  Faery,  that  glides  o'er  waves  of  glass. 
Yet  one  her  deck  is  pacing  that  marks  with  many  a  sigh 
The  amethyst  of  ocean,  the  azure  of  the  sky. 
His  spirit,  faint  with  longing,  would  hold  it  better  far 
To  meet  the  black-winged  storm-cloud,  to  mount  its  thunder 
ing  car, 


THE   ARRIVAL.  163 

And  homeward  through  the  midnight  with  whirlwind-speed 

to  ride, 
'Twixt  walls   of  leaping  foam-flakes,  red  lightning  for  his 

guide  ! 

Nor  marvel  at  such  choosing  !  his  soul  hath  pined  in  chains, 
Borne  slavery's  sharp  anguish,  its  more  than  deathly  pains 
For  years,  till  gold  gave  freedom  —  now  swells  his  breast 

with  joy, 
To  think  how  glad  they'll  greet  him,  their  long  lost  island- 


With  blessing,  with  caressing—  Oh,  here  how  shall  he  wait 
For   sluggish  winds   that   loiter,  and   keels  with  fettering 

freight  ! 

Long,  long  with  foot  impatient  from  stem  to  stern  he  strode, 
Then,  weary,  o'er  the  bulwarks  he  leaned  in  peevish  mood, 
And  bent  his  eyes,  half  conscious,  upon  the  placid  flood. 

When  rudely  tossed  by  passion,  thy  heart  has  striven  in  vain 
Through  reason's  sovereign  mandate  its  quiet  to  regain, 
When  cares  of  life  were  rolling  their  wild  and  vapory  rack 


164:  WOLFE    OF   THE    KNOLL. 

Around  thee  and  above  thee,  and  darkening  all  thy  track — 
Yet   thou  hast  shrunk   from   praying,  because   thou  wert 

ashamed 

To  call  upon  the  Master,  who  surely  must  have  blamed 
Thy  own  weak  faith  full  sharply  ere  He  the  tempest  tamed. 
Oh  then,  hast  ever  turned  thee  from  warring  thoughts  within, 
The  fear,  the  hope,  the  longing,  the  struggle  and  the  sin — 
From  these  hast  ever  turned  thee  to  look  on  Nature's  face, 
That  still  reflects  so  clearly  her  Author's  constant  grace  ? 
She  calms  thee  with  her  silence,  she  soothes  thee  with  her 

sound, 

And  like  a  loving  mother's  her  arms  enfold  thee  round. 
Then  softly  doth  she  whisper,  "  Go,  erring  child,  go  pray! 
If  haply  so  our  Father  forgive  thy  sin  this  day  !  " 
Great  Angel  of  creation  !     God  placed  thee  at  our  side, 
An  ever  present  guardian  to  cheer  us  and  to  chide. 
Thy  glorious  forehead  blazing  with  stars  of  differing  grace, 
Thy  wings  of  light  outstretching  through  boundless  fields 

of  space, 
Thy  rainbow  garments  trailing  along  thy  shining  path, 


THE   AKKIVAL.  165 

Thy  voice,  now  loving  music,  now  terrible  in  wrath, 
Thy  mighty  power  to  quicken  the  dullest  human  heart, 
Declare  from  the  beginning  whose  minister  thou  art ! 
Oh,  still  thy  heavenly  message  of  trust  and  patience  speak 
To  all  whose  hearts  are  troubled,  whose  clouded  faith  is  weak  ! 

Now  mark  the  restless  stranger  !  as  down  the  crystal  wave 
He  looks,  his  pulse  grows  calmer,  his  anxious  brow  less 

grave. 
What  sees   he   there  1     A   landscape,  more   bright,  more 

strangely  fair 

Than  ever  yet  hath  gladdened  the  realms  of  upper  air. 
Over  a  briny  ocean  no  longer  doth  he  seem 
Borne  by  a  lifeless  framework  of  canvas,  bolt  and  beam, 
But  raised  on  spirit  pinions  through  ether  seas  to  go, 
With  the  old  heavens  above  him,  and  a  new  world  below. 
His  brain  swims  as  he  gazes  down  many  a  fathom  deep, 
Where  plain  and  hill  and  valley  alternate  past  him  sweep  ; 
Broad  shining  plains  all  sparkling  with  rippled  sands  of  gold, 
O'erstrewn  with  gem-like  pebbles  and  radiant  shells  untold ; 


166  WOLFE   OF   THE   KNOLL. 

Hills  clothed  with  graceful  forests  or  rough  with  jagged  rocks, 
Slopes  purple  as  Hymettus,  the  wild  thyme  in  his  locks, 
Or  ledges  steeply  shelving,  whence  silken  tangles  fall 
In  broad  and  flowing  fringes,  as  wrought  for  regal  pall ; 
Valleys,  where  clustering  thickets  of  crimson  coral  grow, 
Where  flowers  the  fair  astrea  white   as  the   maybloom's 

snow. 

With  pearly  tassels  drooping,  the  actinia  here  is  seen, 
And  there  the  crimpled  sea-fan  named   of  the  foam-born 

queen ; 

Anemones  and  daisies  and  lilies  scarcely  blown, 
Arrayed  in  robes  of  splendor  are  o'er  those  gardens  strewn. 
Not  Jove's  bloom-loving  daughter   e'er   gathered  buds  so 

bright 

Where  Mongibello  weareth  his  crown  of  flame  by  night. 
Broad  palm-like  plumes  are  waving  o'er  beds  of  branching 

moss, 

And  polished  sea-vines  flaunting  in  mazy  turnings  cross, 
Then  twine  in  garlands  braided  with  living  buds  and  flowers, 
Whose  amaranthine  beauty  shames  Flora's  choicest  bowers ; 


THE   AEKIVAL.  167 

Crowns  wrought  of  purest  crystal,  or  woven  of  burning  stains 
As  deep  as  ever  kindled  in  old  cathedral  panes. 
Well  might  the  Tyrian's  cunning  draw  forth,  of  ocean-birth, 
A  beam  whose  flaming  lustre  should  pale  the  tints  of  earth  ! 
Nor  life  nor  motion  lacketh  that  vision  wondrous  rare ; 
Moss,  vine  and  wreath  are  swinging,  as  rocked  by  vernal  air. 
Forth  from  the  coral  copses  the  glossy  fishes  dart 
In  armor  sheen  enamelled  beyond  all  power  of  art ; 
Now  through  the  subtle  fluid  a  single  silvery  flash 
Shoots  silent  as  a  moonbeam,  and  now  with  muffled  plash 
In  dazzling  shoals  they're  flying,  like  flocks  of  timid  doves, 
That   scared   by  stranger  footsteps   in  clouds  forsake  the 

groves. 

Medusas  float  in  myriads,  as  light  as  mists  of  morn, 
Which  melting  in  the  sunrise  are  up  the  valley  borne  ; 
Now  stainless  as  the  dew-drops  that  gem  the  grassy  spires, 
Now  dyed  with  hues  that  rival  the  opal's  changeful  fires. 
Aye,  bring  your  brightest  jewels,  your  stones  of  clearest  ray 
Before  these  ocean-glories  their  light  will  fade  away  !  * 

*  See  Quatrefage's  Souvenirs  d'un  Naturaliste. 


WOLFE   OF   THE   KNOLL. 

Lost  in  overwhelming  wonder  the  humbled  youth  exclaims ; 
"  O  Father,  by  the  tenderest  of  all  Thy  chosen  names, 
%  Tn7  great  love  incarnate,  forgive  my  soul  that  still 
Against  Thine  awful  counsels  hath  raised  a  sinful  will !  " 

What  feverish  throb'  of  life  our  isle 

Now  stirs,  that  lay  so  calm  erewhile  ? 

Why  do  they  hurry  to  the  shore, 

And  send  their  searching  glances  o'er 

The  roughening  sea?  What!  know'st  thou  not, 

From  Hamburg  city  news  is  brought, 

That  Melleff,  son  of  Amroom,  late 

A  slave  in  Barbary,  doth  wait 

In  her  safe  port  for  wind  and  tide 

To  waft  him  to  our  island's  side  ? 

To-day  the  breeze  blows  fresh  and  fair, 

To-day  the  favoring  tide  rolls  high, 

To-day  no  sea-mists  blind  the  air, 

The  bark  that  bears  him  must  be  nigh  ! 

The  downs  in  panting  haste  they  climb, 


THE    ARRIVAL.  169 

The  young,  the  old,  the  weak,  the  strong, 
Even  the  poor  widow  of  my  rhyme 
I  miss  not  from  the  happy  throng. 
She  gave  her  all  to  save  the  boy — 
Should  she  not  share  the  father's  joy  ? 

Ah  me  !  the  father  !  who  may  know 
His  heart,  or  knowing,  think  to  show ! 
Silent  he  stands,  as  in  a  dream, 
Apart  upon  his  chosen  knoll, 
Within  his  eye  no  kindling  beam, 
But  patience  strong  within  his  soul. 
On  his  pale  features  none  can  trace 
The  cheer  that  gladdens  every  face 
Save  his.     Yet  is  it  strange  that  years 
Of  blasted  hopes  and  freezing  fears 
Should  rob  him  of  the  power  to  feel 
Assurance  strong  of  coming  weal  ? 
That  one  so  long,  so  deeply  sad 

Forgets  to  smile,  though  he  be  glad  ? 
8 


170  WOLFE   OF   THE   KNOLL, 

'A  sail  1  a  sail  V  the  questioning  word 
In  dc  ubtful  murmurs  first  is  heard. 
'A  sail !  a  sail !'  the  shout  breaks  loud 
And  full  from  the  rejoicing  crowd. 
Aye,  there  it  shines  !  a  point  of  light, 
And  now  a  little  silvery  thing, 

As  tiny  as  the  sea-mew's  wing 
• 

When  seen  afar  in  distant  flight ; 

Now  with  a  fuller  pinion  spread, 
Higher  it  lifts  its  sun-lit  head ; 
Onward  the  swelling  cloud  comes  fast, 
Filled  with  the  freshening  western  blast. 
Now  mast  and  model  fairly  show, 
Now  the  familiar  flag  they  know. 
Wolfe  trembles.     At  his  failing  side 
The  pastor  stands,  and  strives  to  hide 
His  own  strong  passion  ;  words  of  cheer 
He  speaks ;  the  old  man  doth  not  hear. 
But  ever  nigher  and  more  nigh 
The  bounding  bark  comes  dancing  on; 


THE  ARRIVAL.  171 

Straight  toward  our  isle  her  course  doth  lie. 
Let  every  chilling  doubt  be  gone  ! 
The  winding  channel  now  she  threads, 
As  one  that  well-known  pathway  treads, 
And  now  at  anchor  doth  she  ride  ; 
They  lower  a  boat — with  waving  hand 
A  youth  leaps  down  the  vessel's  side, 
The  oars  pull  swiftly  toward  the  strand — 
Distrustful  father,  fear  no  more  ! 
Behold  thy  faith's  long  trial  o'er  ! 
Down  every  cheek  the  tears  run  warm, 
And  prayers  gush  forth  from  every  soul, 
As  Wolfe,  stayed  by  the  pastor's  arm, 
With  staggering  step  descends  the  knoll. 
But  ere  his  tottering  feet  can  reach 
The  shore,  the  boat  hath  touched  the  beach. 
The  eager  youth  with  one  strong  bound 
Leaps  to  the  land — looks  anxious  round. 
Will  no  one  greet  him  1  wherefore  stand 
In  such  amaze  that  island  band  ? 


172  WOLFE   OF   THE   KNOLL. 

The  old  man's  eye  grows  fixed  and  wild — 
Oh  God  !  'tis  not — 'tis  not  his  child  ! 
Fainting  he  sinks  with  murmur  low, 
"  My  heart  foretold  the  coming  blow  ; 
Grant  patience,  Thou  who  seest  my  w^oe  !  " 
Around  the  stricken  sire  they  group, 
O'er  him  with  pitying  look  they  stoop, 
They  lift  his  head  upon  their  knees, 
They  bare  his  bosom  to  the  breeze, 
Chafe  the  stiff  hand,  and  still  anew 
Wipe  from  his  brow  the  chilling  dew 
Cold  as  the  gathering  damps  of  death, 
Then  listen  for  the  silent  breath. 

Ah,  hapless  stranger  !  still  alone 

Dost  stand,  unwelcomed  and  unknown  ? 

Is  this  the  hour  to  which  for  years 

Thy  soul  hath  looked  through  toil  and  tears  ? 

Is  this  the  hope  that  made  thee  strong 

To  bear  the  shame,  the  burning  wrong  ? 


THE   AEEIYAL.  173 

For  this  didst  pray  the  lagging  breeze 
To  speed  thy  bark  across  the  seas  ? 
Yet  stay — thou  art  not  all  forgot ! 
Though  other  eyes  may  guess  thee  not, 
Thy  mother  still  doth  know  her  son. 
Yea,  though  thou  come  to  her  as  one 
Raised  from  the  dead.     Old  Helda  tries 
To  speak — but  words  her  tongue  denies. 
Then,  as  if  touched  by  charmed  spell, 
From  off  her  bending  shoulders  fell 
The  weight  of  years,  she  stood  upright, 
Her  eyes  beamed  with  their  earlier  light ; 
Forward  she  sprang — now,  now  he  knows 
His  mother — on  her  neck  he  falls, 
Her  widowed  arms  about  him  close, 
And  weeping,  on  his  name  she  calls : 
"  Melleff !  my  son — or  do  I  dream  ? 
Art  thou  my  child,  or  dost  but  seem  ?  " 
Aye,  aye  'tis  he,  thou  may'st  believe 
The  lost  is  found,  the  dead  doth  live. 


WOLFE   OF   THE   KNOLL. 

The  shepherds'  eyes  are  held  no  more, 
They  give  him  welcome  o'er  and   o'er ; 
And  now  they  ask  how  all  befell ; 
And  now  the  happy  youth  doth  tell 
That  he,  a  slave  in  Tunis  kept, 
For  years  in  bitter  bondage  wept, 
Till  sent  from  Amroom  ransom  came 
For  captive  that  should  bear  his  name. 
This  burst  his  chains,  and  he  hath  come 
To  die  upon  his  island  home. 
"  And  MellefT,  son  of  Wolfe — hast  brought 
Tidings  of  him  ?"  He  knoweth  nought, 
Not  even  his  captivity  ! 
Old  man,  he  brings  no  joy  to  thee  ! 
The  price  sharp  self-denial  won 
Eedeemed  a  slave,  but  not  thy  son  !  * 

*  There  are  no  family  names  among  the  Frisians,  the  patronymic  Wolf- 
son,  Peterson,  Ac.,  serving  to  distinguish  different  individuals  of  the  same 
Christian  name.  These  names,  too,  are  so  few,  that  the  same  is  borne  by 
many,  and  of  course  such  an  accident  as  is  described  in  the  text,  and  is 
actually  affirmed  to  have  happened  in  the  case  narrated  by  Kohl,  is  by 
no  means  improbable. 


CANTO    X. 

THE  RESCUE. 

WHERE  heaven's  arch  of  flaming  ether 
Sahara  clasps  in  close  embrace, 
Till  'twixt  upper  fires  and  nether 
Scarce  the  doubtful  line  you  trace, 
Mark  yon  lurid  cloudlet  swinging, 
Rolling,  eddying,  thickening  fast, 
Broken  sand-wreaths  wildly  flinging 
Out  upon  the  stifling  blast ! 
Is  it  then  the  robe  that  drapeth 
Samiel  in  its  burning  fold, 
And  which  thus  he  madly  shapeth 
To  his  form  of  fearful  mould  ? 
Or  the  lightning's  dread  pavilion 


176  WOLFE   OF   THE   KNOLL. 

Borne  by  fierce  Euroclydon, 

With  its  fringes  dyed  vermilion 

In  the  blazing  noonday  sun? 

Nay,  not  these  1  what  then  hath  shaken 

Such  a  sand-shower  o'er  the  plain  ? 

Flying  steeds  that  do  not  slacken, 

Steeds,  whose  riders  draw  not  rein  ! 

He  that  foremost  sharply  spurreth 

Wears  a  front  that  hero  fits  ; 

Some  great  deed  his  spirit  stirreth, 

Triumph  on  his  forehead  sits  ! 

On  his  arm  a  maid  he  stayeth, 

And  her  eye  is  calm  and  clear, 

And  her  queenly  brow  betrayeth 

Not  a  doubt,  and  not  a  fear. 

At  his  belt  a  sword  is  gleaming, 

Scarlet  stains  his  vesture  mar, 

Tides  from  many  a  gash  are  streaming, 

Purple  wounds  his  visage  scar. 

Close  and  sharp  hath  been  the  fighting ; 


THE   RESCUE.  ITT 

Yea,  for  even  the  maiden's  hand, 

Suited  ill  for  deadly  smiting, 

Grasps  a  short  but  blood-stained  brand! 

In  the  gest  of  that  same  maiden, 

In  that  hand  with  blood  defiled, 

And  with  mortal  weapon  laden, 

Canst  thou  see  the  pacha's  child  ? 

In  that  form  of  stately  bearing, 

In  that  look  so  proud  and  brave, 

In  that  deed  of  highest  daring, 

Canst  thou  see  the  pacha's  slave  ? 

Tell  me,  to  discern  art  able 

Fleecy  cloud  of  sheenest  ray  . 

In  that  band  of  awful  sable 

Where  the  linked  lightnings  play  ? 

Dost  thou  know  the  quiet  mountain 

Where  the  humbled  Titans  sleep, 

When  red  flame  and  fiery  fountain 

From  the  rent  volcano  leap  1 

So  in  gentle  heart  close  hidden 
8* 


178  WOLFE   OF   THE   KNOLL. 

Deep  the  electric  current  lies, 

Till,  by  some  strong  passion  bidden, 

Forth  the  shattering  levin  flies  ! 

So  in  manly  heart,  though  breathing 

Scarce  'neath  mountain-weight  of  woe, 

Boils  a  flood  that  yet  with  seething 

Lava-tides  may  overflow ! 

'Twixt  the  midnight  and  the  dawning, 
McllefF  heard  the  cry  of  fear 
Mingled  with  the  deathly  groaning,  ' 
Tramp  of  steed  and  clash  of  spear. 
'  Was  it  thine,  that  shriek  despairing, 
Sheltering  angel  of  my  life  ?  ' 
Headlong  then,  like  lion  glaring, 
Rushed  he  toward  the  sound  of  strife. 
But  too  late  !  amain  they're  flying 
Through  the  moonlight  with  their  prize — 
Nought  he  meets  save  dead  and  dying, 
And  old  Gerda  with  her  cries. 


THE   RESCUE.  179 

In  a  breath  behold  him  mounted, 
Armed  and  dashing  o'er  the  field, 
With  him  horsemen  ten,  all  counted 
That  might  still  a  weapon  wield. 
Close  the  robber-tracks  they  follow, 
Which  the  moon-rays  still  reveal, 
And  the  earth  rings  deep  and  hollow 
'Neath  each  flashing  hoof  of  steel. 
Now,  brave  Melleff,  now  God  speed  thee ! 
Chains  and  wrongs  thou  hast  forgot ! 
She,  thy  guardian,  she  doth  need  thee, 
Else  thou  dost  remember  nought ! 

Fast  they  ride  till  Phosphor  waning 
Drowns  in  Phoebus'  jets  of  gold, 
Fast  they  ride,  and  fast  are  gaining 
On  the  wild  marauders  bold, 
Who  are  thundering  down  the  valley, 
Through  the  palm-grove  far  and  fast, 
Till  with  maddening  speed  they  sally 


180  WOLFE   OF   THE   KNOLL. 

Out  upon  the  desert  waste. 
Christian,  let  thy  courage  fail  not ! 
Cheer  thy  feeble,  fainting  band  ! 
Ere  the  noontide,  if  they  quail  not, 
Yon  proud  sheikh  shall  bite  the  sand  ! 
He  hath  marked  his  swift  pursuer, 
Noted  every  shining  lance, 
And  behold  !  their  number  fewer 
Than  the  third  of  those  that  glance 
At  his  bidding  !     Lo,  he  turneth, 
Stays  his  followers  in  their  flight, 
Bids  them  count  the  foe  he  spurneth, 
And  address  them  to  the  fight. 

While  the  trembling  girl  he  places 
In  a  faithful  vassal's  care, 
She  hath  seen  where  MellefF  chasi's 
Hotly  through  the  quivering  air. 
She  hath  heard  the  fatal  order : 
"  If,  by  chance-  thy  chieftain  fall, 


THE   RESCUE.  181 

Bear  the  maiden  o'er  the  border 
To  Algeria's  princely  hall !  " 

Hark,  the  shock  !  the  clang  of  weapons ! 
They  have  met — the  battle  cry 
Rises  shrill — the  conflict  deepens — 
How  they  charge,  they  wheel,  they  fly, 
Then  return,  the  fight  renewing, 
With  a  fierce  and  frantic  yell, 
Thirsty  sands  with  blood  bedewing — 
Men  are  they,  or  fiends  of  hell  1 

Fatmeh,  see  !  now  here,  now  yonder, 
How  the  bright-haired  Northman  wheels  ! 
Stroke  on  stroke  like  rattling  thunder 
With  resistless  arm  he  deals  ! 
Count  the  lifted  spears  that  quiver, 
Aimed  at  breast  of  Christian  foe — 
Count  the  broken  spears  that  shiver 
'Neath  his  swifter,  surer  blow ! 


182  WOLFE   OF   TIIE   KNOLL. 

Now  he  fronts  the  bold  Abdallah  ; 
Fiery  chief,  how  low  he  lies  ! 
Furious  shouts  of  Wallah  !  Wallah  ! 
From  his  maddened  followers  rise. 
Scathing  flames  of  vengeance  deaden 
Memory  to  all  other  thought ; 
Even  he  who  guards  the  maiden 
Hath  his  latest  charge  forgot. 
Fierce  he  spurs,  and  fast  he  speedeth 
Toward  the  crimson  battle-ring, 
Nor  the  shuddering  Fatmeh  heedeth, 
If  she  fall,  or  if  she  cling. 
Yet  she  clung,  she  saw  them  pressing 
On  her  wounded  champion  sore, 
Saw  assailants  still  increasing, 
Saw  his  visage  stained  with  gore  ! 
Yet  she  clung  !  convulsive  holding 
Fast  her  warder's  silken  sash, 
And  within  its  ample  folding 
Sudden  saw  a  dagger  flash. 


THE   KESCUE.  183 

Ere  his  hand,  already  lifted, 
Could  at  MellefF  hurl  the  dart, 
She,  with  new-born  virtue  gifted, 
Plunged  that  dagger  in  his  heart ! 

In  a  moment but  who  showeth 

How,  in  such  a  blinding  fray, 

Where  scarce  foeman  foeman  knoweth — 

Safe  on  Melleff's  arm  she  lay  ! 

Wheeling  then  he  swiftly  darted 

O'er  the  wild,  like  winged  light, 

And  his  little  band,  brave-hearted, 

Covered  well  that  headlong  flight. 

In  that  headlong  flight  behold  them 

Scorching  sand-waves  scouring  o'er, 

Though  a  backward  glance  hath  told  them 

That  the  foe  pursues  no  more. 

See,  alas  !  the  fair  head  droopeth, 
Faints  with  fasting  and  fatigue  ; 
Yet  the  blasted  waste  stili  slopeth 


184:  WOLFE    OF    THE    KNOLL. 

Eastward  far  for  many  a  league. 
And  not  yet  the  charm  is  spoken 
By  the  magi  of  the  West, 
Bidding  crystal  streams  unbroken 
Gush  from  out  its  arid  breast.* 
Fount  refreshing,  fruit-tree  laden — 
Vain  it  were  to  seek  them  here ! 
Must  she  perish,  hapless  maiden, 
With  a  freedom  bought  so  dear  ? 

Melleff,  through  the  air's  hot  glimmer 
Mark'st  thou  not  yon  lowly  dome, 
With  its  white,  its  dazzling  shimmer  ? 
"Tis  a  holy  Imaum's  tomb  ! 
Ishmael's  sons,  in  death  still  yearning 
As  in  life,  make  latest  choice 
Of  the  desert  bare  and  burning, 


*  The  French  have  bored  a  considerable  number  of  Artesian  wells  in 
the  Algerine  Sahara,  and  similar  operations  have  been  carried  on  within 
a  few  years  in  Egypt,  and  other  parts  of  Northern  Africa,  See  an  inter 
esting  article  in  the  Revue  de  1'Orient,  for  September,  1858. 


THE   RESCUE.  185 


Where  God  heard  their  father's  voice. 
To  the  sacred  precincts  hasten ! 
There,  in  memory  of  the  dead 
Whose  pure  life  was  but  this  lesson : 
'  Help  thy  brother  in  his  need ' — 
Pious  hands  for  desert  ranger 
Store  have  left  of  choicest  fruit, 
And  to  bless  the  thirsty  stranger 
Bared  the  spring  to  its  deep  root.* 
\/Thither  Melleff  anxious  flieth, 
And  beneath  the  welcome  shade 
Which  the  narrow  dome  supplieth, 
Softly  lays  the  unconscious  maid  ; 
Then  in  trembling  haste  he  bringeth 
Water  from  the  scanty  well, 
And  the  cooling  drops  he  flingeth 
O'er  her,  wake  her  like  a  spell. 
Starting  up,  she  names  her  father — 
"Gerda,  why  hast  left  me  so?" 

*  See  Appendix  IX. 


186  WOLFE    OF   THE   KNOLL. 

And,  as  one  who  drcameth  rather, 
Closely  clasps  her  throbbing  brow. 

Oh,  'twere  pity  to  behold  her 
Pale  as  Cynthia's  struggling  ray, 
While  the  fever-mists  enfold  her 
That  she  strives  to  chase  away  ! 
Richer  gifts  of  form  and  feature 
Ne'er  did  mortal  maiden  share, 
And  to  Mclleff  mortal  creature 
Never  shone  so  heavenly  fair. 
He  would  die  the  doubt  to  banish 
That  with  darkness  fdls  her  brain — 
Lo,  the  passing  shadows  vanish, 
And  her  eye  is  clear  again  ! 

"  Aye,  I  know — yet  why  delay  we  1 
My  deliverer,  wherefore  wait  ? 
Nefta's  bowers  lie  far — why  stay  we  ? 
And  my  father's  grief  is  great !  " 


THE   RESCUE.  187 

"  Princess,  let  no  doubt  affray  thee  ! 
We  but  sought  a  moment's  rest ; 
Take  this  draught,  this  fruit,  I  pray  thee, 
And  we  ride  at  thy  behest." 

Hurriedly  the  cup  she  draineth — 
What  new  tidings  of  dismay 
Brings  the  watchman,  that  constraineth 
Melleff  even  to  blanch  away  ? 
They  have  seen  the  dust-cloud  rising, 
Steely  lightnings  flash  it  through  ! 
Is  its  tawny  mask  disguising 
Welcome  friend  or  dreaded  foe  ? 
Shall  they  fly,  or  shall  they  tarry 
Till  the  painful  doubt  be  clear  ? 
How  the  fickle  judgments  vary  ! 
Now  they  hope  and  now  they  fear. 
With  such  burden  wer't  not  better 
Friend  to  miss  than  foe  to  meet  ? 


188  WOLFE   OF   THE   KNOLL. 

In  the  saddle  they  have  set  her, 
Off  they  dash  at  furious  heat. 


Gallant  heart !  was  never  braver 

On  a  noble  purpose  bent. 

But,  alas  !  thou  canst  not  save  her, 

For  thy  flagging  steed  is  spent. 

Vain  the  spurring,  the  caressing  ! 

Like  the  fire-wave's  rolling  flow, 

On  thy  track  that  cloud  is  pressing — 

Thou  must  turn  and  face  the  foe  ! 

jroe — "but  stay  !  whose  pennon  streameth 

High  above  the  smothering  haze  ? 

Whose  the  armor  bright  that  beameth 

Forth  with  such  a  ruddy  blaze  1 

Now,  be  praise  to  Him  that  saveth  ! 

For  the  right  He  doth  decide. 

There  Tunisia's  banner  waveth, 

There  her  noble  lord  doth  ride  ! 


THE   RESCUE.  189 


Plow  they  send  their  shouts  to  heaven, 
Shouts  of  triumph  and  of  cheer, 
When,  as  by  a  whirlwind  driven, 
Aali  with  his  train  sweeps  near 


CANTO    XI. 

THE  VISION. 

THE  night-lamp's  feeble  flame  burns  low, 
The  trembling  stars  are  looking  through 
The  checkered  lattice,  and  their  light 
Drops  on  the  marble  flooring  bright 
As  Luna's  beam  on  Northern  night. 
No  flaunting  silks,  no  stifling  panes 
Of  crystal,  or  of  varied  stains, 
Obstruct  the  broken  rays  that  fall 
In  silver  fretwork  on  the  wall, 
Where  pearl  with  tortoise-shell  combines 
In  a  mosaic  chaste  and  rare, 
Bordered  with  wreaths  of  golden  vines, 
That  seem  outfloatinsr  on  the  air. 


THE   VISION.  191 

But  gilded  roof  and  arch  are  lost 
In  shadows  that  no  star  hath  crossed. 
A  trickling  fountain's  lulling  flow 
Unseen  doth  greet  the  listener's  ear, 
While  farmings  of  faint  sweetness  show 
The  lily  and  the  rose  are  near  ; 
And  there  its  drapery's  glossy  shine 
Alone  the  silken  couch  betrays, 
Where  the  pale  Patmeh  doth  recline, 
O'er  whom  in  silence  Gerda  prays. 
For  days  hath  frenzied  fever  laid 
His  fiery  hand  upon  her  head, 
With  phantoms  dire  her  brain  possessed, 
And  filled  her  soul  with  dark  unrest. 
The  shadow  of  death's  wing  is  nigh  ; 
Oh,  will  he  smite  her,  or  pass  by  ? 

At  length  the  leaping  pulses  flow 
More  calmly  ;  since  the  midnight  hours 
She  softly  sleeps  ;  her  breathing  now 


WOLFE   OF   THE   KNOLL. 

Is  soundless  as  the  breath  of  flowers. 
In  the  old  nurse  there  stirreth  naught 
Save  the  swift  lightning  of  her  thought, 
That  knows  a  readier  path  to  find 
To  the  far  land  that  gave  her  birth, 
Than  through  the  electric  links  that  bind 
So  close  the  once  dissevered  earth ; 
For  she  hath  fasted,  prayed  and  wept, 
Till  the  soul's  vision,  that  had  slept 
Somewhat  from  age,  now  backward  cast, 
In  one  broad  glance  holds  all  the  past. 

No  more  a  weak  and  withered  thing, 
Wasted  by  time  and  tears,  she  seems, 
But  a  young  wife,  whose  fresh  glad  spring 
Is  opening  in  love's  sunniest  beams. 
Again  on  Iceland's  rocky  coast 
She  sits  beneath  the  pole-star's  ray, 
Its  pale,  calm  shining  well  nigh  lost 
In  the  wild  North-light's  dancing  play ; 


THE  VISION.  193 

Again  her  childish  fancy  paints 
Those  silvery  flashes  as  the  light 
Left  by  the  wings  of  blessed  saints, 
Who  take  to  God  their  happy  flight. 
Far  to  the  east  stands  Ilecla,  crowned 
With  roaring  flame,  and  girt  around 
With  everlasting  icy  chains, 
Outpouring  from  his  lava-veins 
Rivers  of  fire,  that  red  and  wide 
Are  rolling  down  his  snow-clad  side. 
The  boiling  Geysers  thundering  shoot 
From  seething  fountains  vast  as  seas 
That  lie  beneath  his  burning  foot, 
And  swing  their  arms  upon  the  breeze, 
Like  giant  palms  of  crystal,  wrought 
Till  light  as  from  Arachne  caught. 
Of  the  old  landscape,  oh,  how  clear 
Each  sight  and  sound  strikes  eye  and  ear  ! 
And  yet  the  midnight  sun  hath  cast 

For  fifty  years  his  annual  smile 
9 


WOLFE    OF   THE   KNOLL. 

Upon  the  snow-peaks  of  that  isle 
Since  she  hath  looked  upon  it  last. 
Looked  last !  she  shudders  ;  fatal  sight ! 
Let  Lethe's  mighty  waters  roll  • 
Over  the  memory  of  that  night, 
And  wash  it  from  her  troubled  soul. 
But  no  !  that  image  cannot  fade, 
'Tis  drawn  in  blood  upon  her  heart, 
Its  crimson  lines  too  deep  inlaid 
To  pale  till  soul  and  body  part ; — 
The  midnight  yell,  the  bolt's  sharp  crash, 
The  turbaned  corsair's  demon  eyes, 
The  crescent-cimetar's  keen  flash 
'Neath  which  her  murdered  father  lies, 
Her  shrieking  infant  wrenched  away 
From  her  and  cast  to  earth  like  clay, 
The  cries  of  the  resisting  band 
Led  down  despairing  to  the  sea, 
The  death-strokes  dealt  by  Olaf 's  hand, 
His  groan  of  hopeless  agony, 


THE   VISION.  195 

When  bleeding,  dying,  on  the  shore 
He  lay,  while  hellish  pirates  bore 
His  Gerda  to  their  bark  accursed — * 
These  sights,  these  sounds  of  woe  now  burst 
Upon  her  senses  with  a  power, 
A  weight  of  horror,  scarcely  less 
Than  in  the  first  o'erwhelming  hour 
That  sealed  her  doom  of  wretchedness. 
Again  the  sea's  deep  moan  she  hears, 
Unmeaning  words  are  in  her  ears, 
And  now  a  fellow-captive's  wail 
Is  mingled  with  the  sobbing  gale. 

Yet  are  these  memories  more  dim  ; 
Soon  as  the  crushing  blow  was  dealt, 
Over  her  soul  strange  stupor  came, 
The  broken  heart  but  little  felt. 
That  voyage  of  months — it  fills  no  space 
On  the  broad  tablet  of  her  thought — 

*  See  Appendix  X. 


196  WOLFE   OF   THE   KNOLL. 

A  blackness  that  revealeth  naught, 

A  point  alone  that  hath  but  place. 

But  when  they  reached  the  hateful  shore, 

Then  was  the  unconscious  respite  o'er, 

Then  did  her  tortured  bosom  swell 

With  anguish  wild,  unutterable. 

The  market-place — O  Gerda !  why 

Wilt  thou  recall  that  agony  1 

Nay,  pass  it  o'er  !  pass  all  those  years 

When  day  and  night  thy  meat  was  tears — 

Pass  onward  to  the  better  hour 

That  freed  thee  from  a  tyrant's  power, 

And  placed  thee  in  young  Maani's  bower ! 

There  gentle  pity  didst  thou  find 

WTith  her,  the  generous,  true  and  kind. 

Sweet  Maani!  through  the  Orient  fumed, 

The  fairest  rose  that  e'er  had  birth 

In  far  Circassia,  meetly  named 

Mother  of  beauty  for  the  earth — 

Alas !  not  hope  that  smiled  before  her, 


THE   VISION.  197 

Not  all  the  love  that  Aali  bore  her, 

Not  the  dear  infant  on  her  heart, 

Could  save  her  from  the  icy  dart 

Of  Death,  whom  grief,  reproach  and  prayer 
Alike  have  striven  to  move  in  vain, 
Since  the  first  hour  of  his  dark  reign, 
The  loveliest  and  the  best  to  spare. 
From  all  that  joy  in  life  could  waken 

Was  the  blest  wife  and  mother  taken 

And  she,  of  every  pleasure  reft, 
The  wretched,  hopeless  captive  left. 
And  yet— how  strange !  the  orphan  child 
Turned  first  to  that  despairing  face, 
And  with  a  baby's  matchless  grace 
Stretched  forth  its  little  arms  and  smiled. 

Since  then  for  Fatmeh  hath  she  not 
Felt  all  a  mother's  heart  could  feel, 
And  in  that  love  nigh  half  forgot 
Herself  a  slave,  an  exile  still  ? 


198  WOLFE   OF   THE   KNOLL. 

Now  must  she  lose  her  ?  will  she  die  1 
Old  dame,  the  cruel  thought  forbear — 
'Twill  slay  thee ;  turn  again  to  prayer  ; 
God  will  not  leave  thee  utterly  ! 
She  stirs,  she  speaks,  thy  foster-child — 
Listen  if  still  her  words  be  wild. ! 

"  Gerda !  art  here  ?     Oh,  I  have  seen 

A  vision  of  such  bliss  to-night, 

A  glory  so  exceeding  bright, 

God's  paradise  it  must  have  been. 

I  saw  His  blessed  angels  there, 

Saints  crowned  with  immortality, 

I  saw  my  mother  wondrous  fair, 

And  knew  her,  though  none  showed  it  me. 

Into  her  opening  arms  I  flew, 

And  on  her  soft  and  loving  breast 

She  rocked  me  to  a  sweeter  rest 

Than  ever  weary  childhood  knew. 

It  wras  not  sleep,  for  I  could  see 


THE   VISION.  199 

The  glory  still  that  circled  me, 

And  I  could  hear  from  golden  lyres, 

Swept  by  the  hand  of  seraph-choirs, 

Harmonious  ravishment  that  thrilled 

Beyond  the  power  of  song,  that   filled 

My  being  to  its  utmost  core 

With  rapture  all  undreamed  before, 
And  in  my  soul  sweet  longings  stirred 
To  be  but  one  with  what  I  heard. 
It  was  not  sleep  !  and  yet  I  saw 

Not  all  those  heavenly  eyes  discerned 

I  knew  it  by  the  holy  awe 

That  through  their  milder  meanings  burned  ; 

The  majesty  reflected  there 

Was  all  that  mortal  sight  could  bear 

Then  one  drew  near  with  floating  tread  ; 
I  knew  her  straightway  ;  it  was  she, 
Who  in  the  garden  of  the  dead 
Near  Tunis,  by  the  sounding  sea, 


200  WOLFE   OF   THE   KNOLL. 

Doth  sleep — the  princess  Moonldr  bore 
From  Frankistan's  remotest  shore, 
And  gave  a  rest  so  long,  so  calm, 
On  the  blest  shore  of  El-Islam, 
Beneath  the  aloe,  by  the  side 
Of  him  for  whom  she  meekly  died. 
And  very  meek  the  smile  that  lay 
Upon  her  lips,  as  it  would  say, 
'  Less  worthy  I  the  crown  of  light 
Than  these  who  fought  a  better  fight/ 
"  Sister,"  she  said — and  her  tones  fell 
So  softly  that  I  cannot  tell 
If  it  were  sound — "  Oh,  learn  of  me, 
'Tis  well  to  keep  thy  verity  ! 
A  holier  cause  than  earthly  love 
Alone  a  maiden's  heart  should  move 
To  leave  her  father  and  her  faith. 
Yet  know,  'tis  higher,  greater  far, 
To  live  and  conquer  in  such  war 
Than  cowardly  to  call  on  Death. 


THE   VISION. 

Die  unto  self!  aye,  nobly  slay, 
With  Allah's  aid,  that  birth  of  sin 
Which  eats  thy  budding  wings  away, 
And,  grub-like,  leaves  but  dust  within. 
Then  live  to  God  for  man,  till  He 
Take  thee  to  His  eternity  !  " 
The  vision  passed  while  yet  she  spoke, 
And  full  of  joy  and  peace  I  woke. 
Gerda,  'tis  not  the  moment  now, 
Had  I  the  power,  to  tell  thee  how 
My  heart  hath  tempted  me  to  fly 
With  Melleff,  or,  renouncing,  die  ! 
Enough — at  length  my  heaven-taught  soul 
Pants  high  for  a  diviner  goal — 
Is  strong  to  take  the  longest  road, 
The  roughest,  mortal  ever  trod, 
So  it  but  lead  at  last  to  God — 
To  lose  for  earth  one  single  beam 
That  crowned  the  pure  immortal  day 

Beheld  in  my  departed  dream, 
9* 


201 


WOLFE   OF  THE   KNOLL. 

Were  price  too  heavy  far  to  pay. 
Life's  passing  ills  no  more  I  blame, 
E'en  sorrow  scarce  deserves  a  name, 
So  brief  her  honr.     Oh  nurse,  I  know, 
This  thou  hadst  taught  me  long  ago, 
But  happy  youth  will  learn  but  slow  ! 
Now  my  first  prayer, 'let others  see, 
Father,  what  thou  hast  shown  to  me,' 
And  for  myself  but  this  alone, 
The  first,  the  last,  '  Thy  will  be  done ! ' 
One  work  accomplished,  then  am  I 
Alike  content  to  live  or  die." 

She  ceased,  and  fainting  sank  away 
More  wan  than  the  first  daylight  ray 
That  full  upon  her  forehead  lay. 
The  trembling  Gerda  hastes  to  shed 
The  spicy  waters  on  her  head, 
Throws  back  the  mantling  cloud  of  hair, 
And  bathes  her  in  the  morning  air. 


THE   VISION.  203 

At  last,  the  deathly  weakness  o'er, 
She  lifts  her  languid  lids  once  more. 

"  Where  is  my  father  ?  doth  he  wake  ?  " 
"  Aye,  child  and  long,  for  thy  dear  sake." 

"  Then  pray  him,  of  his  love,  come  near, 
For  I  would  speak  what  he  should  hear." 

The  pacha  stood  beside  her  bed, 

The  tears  that  manhood  shames  to  shed 

Pressed  back,  and,  stooping  calm  and  slow, 

Kissed  tenderly  her  ivory  brow. 

"  Father,  my  feet  have  stood  to-nigh, 

Within  the  very  gates  of  light ! 

Such  grace  hath  Allah  shown  to  me 

That  I  am  bold  to  sue  to  thee. 

Then,  for  my  mother's  sake  and  mine — 


204  WOLFE  OF  THE  KNOLL. 

Nay,  rather,  that  God's  face  may  shine 
On  thee  when  thou  shalt  stand  alone 
For  judgment  at  his  awful  throne — * 
Oh,  set  thy  Christian  captives  free, 
And  send  them  safely  o'er  the  sea  ! 
What  Melleff's  hand  for  me  hath  wrought 
This  grace  from  thee  hath  nobly  bought. 
Grant  but  my  prayer — duty  and  love 
What  else  I  cannot  speak,  shall  prove  !  " 

Again  she  swoons  !  how  like  to  death ! 
No  fluttering  throb,  no  faintest  breath 
That  marble  stirs  !     Oh,  was  she  taught 
To  live  a  true,  great  life  for  naught  1 
For  naught !  is  this  thy  wisdom's  reach  ? 
That  lesson  deeply  learned,  wrhat  more 
Doth  the  immortal  on  the  shore 
Of  time,  which  can  no  further  teach  ? 

*  All  shall  appear  at  the  judgment,  and  every  man  alone.    Koran. 


THE  VISION.  205 

The  father  with  a  heay  groan 
Turns  from  his  child.     With  a  low  moan 
Upon  her  neck  falls  Gerda — nay, 
Now  lift  her  not !  'tis  clay  to  clay  ! 


CANTO    XII. 

THE  EETUEN. 

ON  the  mainland  stood  the  sun, 

Looking  westward  o'er  the  water, 

Till  its  glassy  surface  shone, 

Crimson  as  a  field  of  slaughter. 

Wrapped  in  lightest  autumn-haze 

Amroom  rested  on  the  ocean, 

Whose  broad  breast  had  heaved  for  days 

Only  with  a  tidal  motion. 

Not  a  breeze,  in  cloudy  car, 

O'er  the  morning  sky  was  sweeping ; 

Hushed,  all  nature,  near  and  far, 

Lay  as  in  the  calmest  sleeping. 

Shepherds,  silent  as  the  scene, 


THE   KETUKN.  207 

Down  their  steepy  hillocks  wended, 
And  to  pastures  paly  green, 
With  their  eager  flocks,  descended. 
Why  so  gravely  toward  the  sea — 
Each  as  neighbor  neighbor  passes — 
Point  they,  though  upon  the  lea 
Not  a  zephyr  stirs  the  grasses  ? 
Do  their  quicker  senses  hear 
Aught  that  may  the  storm  betoken  ? 
To  the  sod  now  lay  thine  ear — 
Lo,  the  charmed  silence  broken  !  * 
First  by  low  and  tender  moans, 
As  of  music  that  complaineth, 
Then  by  deep  and  heavy  groans, 
As  when  anguish  strong  constraineth. 
Now,  as  if  the  south  wind  passed 
Through  the  pine-tree  softly,  sadly, 
Now,  as  if  the  whirlwind's  blast 
Smote  the  forest  fiercely,  madly. 

*  See  Appendix  XI. 


208  WOLFE   OF  THE   KNOLL. 

Nearer  now,  and  yet  more  loud, 
As  when  voiced  lightnings  quiver 
Through  the  black  tornado-cloud, 
And  the  reeling  cedars  shiver. 
'Tis  the  far-off  chariot  roll 
Of  the  west  wind,  wildly  speeding 
Onward  to  its  unseen  goal, 
Man  and  his  poor  works  unheeding. 
Woe  to  him  whose  careless  sail 
On  the  tempest's  track  is  flying ! 
Fathom-deep,  ere  daylight  fail, 
Shall  that  hapless  bark  be  lying. 
Though  for  hours  these  waters  sleep 
Calm  as  lake  in  sheltering  mountains, 
While  afar  the  mighty  deep 
Eolls  upbroken  to  its  fountains, 
Yet  round  Amroom,  isle  of  storms, 
Shadows  ere  the  sunset  hover  ; 
Night  and  cloud,  their  dusky  forms 
Mingling,  soon  its  face  will  cover. 


THE    KETUKN.  209 

Howling  winds  blow  high  and  cold ; 
Fast  the  shrouding  darkness  thickens  ; 
Safe  to  house  his  shivering  fold 
Now  his  step  the  shepherd  quickens. 
Haste  to  aid  him,  wife  and  child ! 
Lest,  before  the  work  be  ended, 
Sky  and  shore  and  ocean  wild 
In  one  midnight  deep  be  blended ! 

^ 

All  are  sheltered ;  thanking  God, 
Round  their  scanty  fire  they  gather, 
Calm  they  sit,  as  if  abroad 
Shone  the  softest,  sunniest  weather. 
Not  a  glance  of  fear  they  cast 
At  the  hissing  waters  round  them, 
Though  the  billow  and  the  blast 
Rise  as  if  no  fetter  bound  them. 
Trusting  in  their  Father's  care, 
Who  will  leave  not  nor  forsake  them, 


210  WOLFE   OF   THE   KNOLL. 

With  a  short  and  childlike  prayer 
They  to  needful  rest  betake  them. 

Through  the  tempest's  troubled  roll 
Is  there  then  no  eye  but  sleepeth  1 
Aye  !  for  still  upon  the  knoll 
Wolfe  his  patient  vigil  keepeth ! 
Even  that  last,  that  cruel  blow, 
His  unbroken  faith  surviveth, 
Saying  still,  with  Job,  1 1  know 
Surely  my  Redeemer  liveth ! ' 
When  from  that  long  swoon  he  woke, 
Straight  to  Heaven  did  he  address  him, 
And  the  first  faint  words  he  spoke — 
<  Though  He  slay  me  I  will  bless  Him  '- 
Scarce  his  shrunken  lips  had  passed, 
WThen  the  postman's  bark  came  flying 
O'er  the  cold  gray  waters  fast 
Toward  the  beach  where  he  was  lying. 
Man  of  sorrow,  lift  thy  head  ! 


THE   RETURN.  211 

Comfort  to  thy  heart  it  bringeth, 
Hope,  whose  very  root  seemed  dead, 
Into  sudden  freshness  springeth ! 
Letters  in  his  hand  they  placed — 
Letters,  and  his  son  doth  send  them ! 
Those  clear  lines  so  boldly  traced, 
Who  but  MellefFs  self  had  penned  them? 
'  He  was  free,  on  Christian  land, 
Hurriedly  was  homeward  pressing, 
And  should  reach  their  island-strand 
Ere  the  winter,  with  God's  blessing  ! ' 

From  that  hour  Wolfe  standeth  strong, 
Cloudless  peace  his  soul  possesses  ; 
Though  the  waiting  hath  been  long, 
Not  a  doubt  his  heart  distresses. 
Day  by  day  and  week  by  week, 
From  the  dawning  until  even, 
Still  he  gazes,  childly  meek, 
Seaward  now,  and  now  toward  Heaven. 


212  WOLFE   OF   THE   KNOLL. 

And  to-night,  though  winds  are  high, 
Friends  in  vain  to  rest  entreat  him ; 
"  Sure,"  he  saith,  "  my  son  is  nigh, 
And  I  must  be  here  to  greet  him  !  " 

Hark !  the  tide's  advancing  roar  ; 
Shepherds,  brief  will  be  your  sleeping  ! 
Wave  rolls  wave  against  the  shore, 
Each  in  scorn  the  last  o'erleaping. 
Now  the  trembling  mounds  they  smite, 
Close  around  their  bases  curling ; 
O'er  the  roofs  with  doubling  might 
Briny  flakes  they  now  are  hurling  ! 
Cynthia,  through  the  wind-rent  cloud 
O'er  her  rising  glory  drifted, 
Sees  above  the  foamy  shroud 
Cot  and  down  alone  uplifted. 
How  the  cabins  heave  and  rock 
On  the  feathery  crested  surges, 
While  each  quick  returning  shock 


THE   RETUKN.  213 

Half  the  dripping  thatch  submerges ! 
Breaking  faintly  through  the  gloom, 
Lo,  the  feeble  taper  gleameth, 
Flieth  fast  from  room  to  room, 
Through  each  narrow  casement  streameth ! 
They  would  save  their  household  store — 
Hurriedly  aloft  they  bear  it, 
Pile  it  high  above  the  floor, 
So  perchance  the  flood  may  spare  it'! 
Silent  then,  with  awe-struck  look, 
Close  they  press,  while  o'er  them  dashes 
Wave  on  wave,  with  thundering  shock, 
And,  beneath,  the  frail  shed  crashes. 

Where  is  Wolfe  ?  upon  the  down 
Still  he  stands  with  soul  unshaken ; 
Ocean's  rage,  the  sky's  wild  frown, 
Not  a  thought  of  fear  can  waken. 
Cloven  billows,  higher,  higher, 
Round  his  pigmy  isle  are  springing; 


214 


WOLFE    OF   THE   KNOLL. 

Darting  up  like  tongues  of  fire, 
To  his  very  feet  they're  clinging ! 
Yet  he  heeds  them  not ;  his  eye 
Through  the  blinding  night  he  straineth 
Toward  the  perilous  road,  where  lie 
Ships,  when  stormy  darkness  reigneth. 
Lo,  through  folded  clouds  the  moon 
With  her  silvery  arrow  pierces, 
For  a  moment  glances  down, 
And  the  thickest  gloom  disperses. 
Some  dark  shape  upon  the  tide, 
Heaving  slow,  his  vision  fancies, 
While  along  its  blackened  side 
Light  and  free  the  sea-foam  dances. 
Dreamer,  mocked  for  many  a  year, 
Oft  the  broken  reed  hath  thrust  thee ! 
Schooled  so  sternly,  dost  thou  dare 
On  a  hope  so  frail  to  trust  thee  ? 
Yea  !  and  through  that  awful  night 
With  this  hope  his  heart  o'erfloweth, 


THE   KETURN.  215 

Joyfully  expects  the  light, 
That  the  vessel  surely  showeth. 
Fond  old  man,  alas  for  thee  ! 
Other  sight  thine  eyes  awaiteth 
When  the  troops  of  darkness  flee, 
And  the  angry  flood  abateth ! 

Now  spent  ocean  seeks  his  bed ; 
Morning  in  the  orient  lightens, 
Eobes  the  flying  clouds  with  red, 
And  the  weeping  islet  brightens. 
Watcher,  turn  thee  toward  thy  cot ! 
Lo,  the  angel  that  destroyeth, 
Save  thy  life,  hath  left  thee  naught, 
All  in  hopeless  ruin  lieth. 
On  the  turfless,  crumbling  mound 
Scarce  an  upright  pile  remaineth, 
While  the  shapeless  wreck  around 
Even  the  hungry  sea  disdaineth. 
There  the  pitying  neighbors  throng, 


WOLFE   OF  THE  KNOLL. 

Crying,  "  Hath  our  God  forsaken 
One  that  hath  been  tried  so  long  ? 
Let  his  loving  kindness  waken  !  " 

Brave  old  man  !  that  sight  the  while 

Stirs  in  him  no  strong  emotion, 

But  again  with  chastened  smile 

Turns  he  to  the  throbbing  ocean. 

There  she  lies,  a  noble  ship  ! 

And  the  tempest  hath  not  scathed  her, 

Though  her  shrouds  and  canvas  drip 

With  the  drenching  floods  that  bathed  her ! 

Springing  from  its  perch,  a  bark 

Wide  its  snowy  wings  outstretches, 

Flies,  like  arrow  to  the  mark, 

Isle-ward  till  the  shore  it  reaches. 

Lo,  he  comes !  and  faith  hath  won 

Her  reward  that  faileth  never. 

"  Now  it  is  enough,  my  son  ! 

Blessed  be  His  name  forever  !  " 


THE   EETUKN.  217 

Ye  that,  for  love  of  the  lowly,  so  long 
Have  patiently  followed  my  simple  song, 
Do  ye  plain  the  lot  of  our  Melleff  still, 
Though  free  over  Amroom  he  walks  at  will  ? 
Then  ye  know  not  how  dear,  if  loved  from  birth, 
The  dreariest  sod  of  a  sin-cursed  earth  ! 
Ye  know  not  the  bondman's  bitter  estate, 
The  soul's  keen  joy  with  new  freedom  elate ; 
Ye  know  not  how  sweet  on  a  father's  head 
The  oil  of  gladness  unmeasured  to  shed, 
To  purple  his  sunset  with  purer  dye 
Than  ever  had  flushed  in  his  morning  sky  ! 
Ye  know  not  'tis  blesseder  far  to  see 
The  idol  wre  worship  stretch  suddenly 
The  wings  of  its  glory,  and  fill  the  place 
With  brightness  that  proveth  its  heavenly  race — 
Though  at  last  it  soar,  in  its  shining  flight, 
Too  high  to  be  followed  by  mortal  sight — 
Oh,  blesseder  far,  than  our  incense  to  waste 

On  what  but  seems  with  divinity  graced, 
10 


218  WOLFE   OF   THE   KNOLL. 

To  kneel  for  long  years,  and  cast  at  its  feet 
Our  heart's  best  gifts  as  an  offering  meet — 
Yet  the  altar  still  cold,  nor  voice  nor  sign 
Proclaim  the  fair  image  indeed  divine — 
To  see  its  proud  colors  fade  day  by  day, 
Its  faultless  lines  crumble  slowly  away, 
Till  we  find,  at  last,  'tis  but  common  clay  ! 


APPENDIX  TO  WOLFE  OF  THE  KNOLL. 


i. 


For  a  mightie  great  compasse,  their  countrey  lieth  so  under  the 
Ocean,  and  subject  to  the  tide,  that  twice  in  a  day  &  night  by  turnes, 
the  eea  overfloweth  a  mightie  deale  of  ground  when  it  is  floud,  & 
leaveth  all  drie  again  at  the  ebbe  &  return  of  the  water  :  insomuch,  as 
a  man  can  hardly  tell  what  to  make  of  the  outward  face  of  the  earth 
in  those  parts,  so  doubtfull  it  is  between  sea  and  land.  The  poore  sillie 
people  that  inhabit  those  parts,  either  keepe  together  on  such  high 
hils  as  Nature  hath  afforded  here  &  there  in  the  plain :  or  els  rai'se 
mounts  with  their  owne  labour  and  handle  worke  (like  to  tribunals 
cast  up  and  reared  with  turfe,  in  a  campe)  above  the  height  of  the  sea, 
at  any  Spring  tide  when  the  floud  is  highest ;  and  thereupon  they  set 
their  cabines  and  cottages.  Thus  dwelling  as  they  doe,  they  seerao 
(when  it  is  high  water,  and  that  all  the  plaine  is  overspread  with  the 
sea  round  about)  as  if  they  were  in  little  barkes  floting  in  the  middest 
of  the  sea :  againe,  at  a  low  water  when  the  sea  is  gone,  looke  upon 
them,  you  would  take  them  for  such  as  had  suffered  shipwracke,  hav 
ing  their  vessels  cast  away,  and  left  lying  ato-side  amid  the  sands' :  for 
yee  shall  see  the  poore  wretches  fishing  about  their  cottages,  and  fol 
lowing  after  the  fishes  as  they  go  away  with  the  water.  They  have 
not  a  four-footed  beast  among  them  :  neither  enjoy  they  any  benefite 
of  milke,  as  their  neighbour  nations  doe  :  nay,  they  are  destitute  of 
all  meanes  to  chase  wild  beasts,  and  hunt  for  venison  ;  in  as  much  as 
there  is  neither  tree  nor  bush  to  give  them  harbour,  nor  any  weare 


220      APPENDIX  TO  WOLFE  OF  THE  KNOLL. 


unto  them  by  a  great  way.  Sea-weeds  or  Reike,  rushes  and  reeds 
growing  upon  the  washes  and  meeres,  serve  them  to  twist  for  cords  to 
make  their  fishing  nets  with.  These  poorc  soules  and  sillie  creatures 
are  faine  to  gather  a  slimie  kind  of  fattie  mud  or  oase,  with  their  very 
hands,  which  they  drie  against  the  wind  rather  than  the  Sunne  ;  and 
with  that  earth,  for  want  of  other  fewell,  they  make  fire  to  seeth  their 
meat  (such  as  it  is)  and  heat  the  inward  parts  of  their  bodie,  readie  to 
be  starke  and  stiffe  againe  with  the  chilling  North  wind.  No  other 
drinke  have  they  but  raine  water,  which  they  save  in  certaine  ditches 
after  a  shower,  and  those  they  dig  at  the  very  entrie  of  their  cottages. 
And  yet  see !  this  people  (as  wretched  and  miserable  a  case  as  they 
bee  in)  if  they  were  subdued  at  this  day  by  the  people  of  Rome,  would 
say  (and  none  sooner  than  they)  that  they  lived  in  slaverie.  Pliny, 
Natural  History,  Book  XVI.  Chap.  I. 

II. 

The  ambassadors  Verritus  and  Maloriges  (in  Frisic  probably  Fred- 
dens  und  Malrichsen)  were  complimented  by  an  invitation  to  the 
theatre  of  Pompey,  to  witness  a  public  entertainment.  Being  re 
garded  as  rustics,  or  rather  semi-barbarians,  they  were  not  conducted 
to  the  box  reserved  for  the  imperial  and  royal  diplomatic  circle,  but 
shown  to  seats  in  the  second  tier.  Enquiring  of  their  valet  de  place 
who  the  dignitaries  were  in  the  conspicuous  lodge  occupied  by  the 
foreign  ministers,  they  were  told  that  these  were  their  Excellencies, 
the  ambassadors  from  the  kings  and  the  great  nations  of  the  earth. 
Upon  this,  they  exclaimed,  "  Na  worum  schalt  wi  denn  do  nich  sitten  ? 
Sin  wir  Freschen  denn  nich  ebon  so  god  as  de  anuern  ?  Wat  ji  Romers 
nich,  det  de  Diitschen  biiter  upkloppen  kiint,  un  mehr  Trii  un  Globen 
haft  as  de  alle  tosomen !  "  which  Tacitus  expresses  in  a  very  pompous, 
Italian,  and  un-Frisic  way :  "  nullos  mortalium  armis  aut  fide  ante 
Gcrmanos  essc."  They  now  made  their  way,  without  ceremony,  to 
the  diplomatic  box,  and  took  their  seats  with  the  other  ambassadors, 
which,  as  Tacitus  says,  was  well  received,  as  a  sample  of  primitive 
spirit,  "  comiter  a  visentibus  exceptum  quasi  impetus  antiqui."  Kohl, 
Vol.  II,  p.  325. 


APPENDIX  TO  WOLFE  OF  THE  KNOLL.      221 

III. 

Water  is  usually  distributed  to  private  houses  in  the  east  by  carriers 
provided  with  goat-skins  holding  seven  or  •  eight  gallons.  These  are 
filled  at  public  fountains  erected  by  the  charity  of  the  rich,  and  the 
water  is  sold  in  the  streets,  and  very  generally  given  freely  to  the 
poor. 

"  I  was  one  day  sitting,"  says  Prax,  "  at  the  door  of  a  coffee-house, 
when  a  boy  came  up  with  a  full  water-skin.  He  cried,  '  Whosoever 
shall  give  four  nasseri  (one  cent  and  a  half)  to  relieve  the  thirst  of  the 
poor,  shall  see  the  mercy  of  God  upon  himself  and  his  ancestors ! '  I 
gave  him  the  four  nasseri,  and  drank  from  a  cup  presented  me  by  the 
sakka.  He  then  offered  the  water  to  all  comers,  crying,  '  0  ye  that 
are  athirst !  behold  water  given  for  the  love  of  God  !  May  the  donor 
of  this  water  see  the  mercy  of  God  shed  abroad  upon  his  fathers.'" 
Revue  de  FOrient,  November,  1849. 

IV. 

The  Prophet  is  traditionally  reported  to  have  said  :  Upon  him  who 
is  hospitable  God  will  bestow  twenty  gifts : 
Wisdom ; 
A  sure  word ; 
The  fear  of  God  ; 
A  heart  always  glad ; 
He  shall  hate  none  ; 
He  shall  not  be  proud  ; 
He  shall  not  be  jealous  ; 
Sadness  shall  flee  away  from  him  ; 
He  shall  hospitably  receive  all ; 
He  shall  be  beloved  of  all ; 

He  shall  be  respected,  though  he  be  of  humble  birth  ; 
His  goods  shall  be  increased  ; 
His  life  shall  be  blessed ; 
He  shall  be  patient ; 
He  shall  be  discreet ; 
He  shall  be  always  contented ; 


222      APPENDIX  TO  WOLFE  OF  THE  KNOLL. 

He  shall  care  little  for  the  good  things  of  this  world ; 

If  he  stumbles,  God  shall  uphold  him  ; 

His  sins  shall  be  forgiven  him  ; 

And,  finally,  God  shall  preserve  him  from  the  evil  which  may  fall 
from  the  heavens  or  rise  from  the  earth. 

Be  generous  to  thy  guest,  for  he  cometh  to  thee  with  his  good : 
when  he  entereth  in,  he  bringeth  thee  a  blessing ;  and  when  he  de- 
parteth,  he  carrieth  away  thy  sins. 

V. 

A  Hallig  preacher  described  to  me  his  arrival  in  his  parish  much 
as  follows : 

"  My  reception  was  very  touching,"  said  he,  hardly  able  to  repress 
his  tears.  "  How  so,  pastor  ?  "  asked  I.  "  Well,  I  came  down  the 
geest  (the  mainland)  with  my  wife,  in  a  heavily-loaded  waggon,  for  we 
had,  besides  our  clothing,  many  things  that  good  friends  here  and 
there  had  given  us,  to  help  our  housekeeping  on  the  Hallig.  We 
reached  the  shore  a  day  later  than  we  expected,  and  found  the  boat 
that  had  been  sent  over  for  us  lying  by  the  dike.  The  poor  people 
had  waited  two  days,  and  had  uncomfortable  quarters  in  the  mean 
time.  They  welcomed  us,  took  our  baggage  on  board,  and  we  shoved 
off.  We  soon  approached  a  waste,  treeless  island,  and  I  asked  the 
men  if  that  was  their  Hallig.  They  took  off  their  hats,  and  answered, 
*  Yes,  pastor,'  and  I  turned  to  my  wife,  and  said,  '  There,  my  child, 
that  is  the  island  where  we  are  to  live ! '  When  we  landed  on  the 
Hallig,  we  found  the  whole  congregation  assembled,  men,  women,  arid 
the  children  too,  which  much  affected  me.  '  Did  some  one  of  the 
committee  or  the  elders  make  a  formal  speech  to  you?'  asked  I. 
4  Oh  no,  not  that.'  '  Did  the  women  and  girls  sing  a  song  of  wel 
come  ? '  '  Oh,  no  ;  these  good  people  never  sing  but  in  church.'  I 
got  out  of  the  boat,  helped  my  wife  out,  and  said  to  them,  'Good 
morning,  my  dear  children !  I  have  brought  you  your  pastor  and 
pastoress.  God  bless  you ! '  '  Did  the  girls  scatter  flowers  before  you, 
or  bring  you  wreaths  ? '  '  Oh,  no,  they  have  no  flowers.'  The  men  all 
came  and  pressed  my  hand  in  silence,  and  the  women  caressed  us,  and 


APPENDIX   TO   WOLFE   OF   THE   KNOLL.  223 

patting  our  shoulders,  said,  '  Good  pastor  and  dear  pastoress !  It  is 
very  kind  of  you  to  be  willing  to  be  our  pastor  and  pastoress  ! '  And 
then  they  gathered  up  our  boxes  and  bundles,  each  one  taking  a  par 
cel,  and  led  us  to  our  house,  which  they  had  nicely  swept  and  aired. 
The  old  men  whispered  to  me  that  I  need  not  fear  for  my  salary,  for 
they  had  collected  it,  and  were  ready  to  pay  the  whole  sixty  thalers* 
in  advance.  Then  they  showed  me  my  garden-plot,  and  the  church, 
which  had  also  been  swept.  *  Had  they  dressed  it  with  green  branches  ? ' 
*  Oh,  no,  they  have  neither  branches  nor  trees,  but  they  had  hoisted  a 
flag,  which  was  waving  in  the  wind,  as  they  do  on  all  festive  occasions.' 
Many  of  them  were  affected  to  tears,  and  my  wife  and  I  could  not 
control  our  emotion."  Kohl,  I.  349. 

VI. 

The  usual  period  of  leaving  the  islands  (to  engage  in  foreign  mari 
time  service)  is  St.  Peter's  day,  which  falls  on  the  29th  of  June.  Many 
small  vessels  are  freighted  with  mariners  bound  for  the  ports  of  Hol 
land,  and  the  wives,  mothers,  sisters,  and  sweethearts  of  the  departing 
sailors  assemble  to  bid  them  adieu.  They  gather  upon  an  old  heathen 
funeral  mound  in  the  island  of  Fb'hr,  in  their  antiquated  and  picturesque 
costumes,  accompanied  by  children  and  superannuated  mariners,  and 
make  farewell  signals  from  shore  to  ship,  and  from  b-hip  to  shore,  as 
long  as  they  remain  in  sight  of  each  other.  St.  Peter's  day  is  also  the 
general  business  day  of  the  island.  Old  debts  are  paid,  new  ones  in 
curred,  and  especially  matrimonial  engagements  contracted,  so  that  it 
is  at  once  the  most  important  epoch  of  the  year,  and  an  anniversary 
around  which  many  of  the  most  painful  as  well  as  tender  and  hopeful 
associations  ch'ng.  Kohl,  Vol.  I.  p.  155. 

VII. 

Amber  is  found  in  considerable  quantities  on  the  coasts  of  Schleswig- 
Holstein,  the  neighboring  islands,  and  Jutland,  as  well  as  on  the  south 
ern  shores  of  the  Baltic.  It  is  thrown  up  on  the  beach  by  tempestuous 

*  Sixty  thalers,  or  about  forty -five  dollars,  is  tlie  annual  salary  of  a  Hallig  pastor 


224:  APPENDIX  TO   WOLFE  OF  THE  KNOLL. 

weather,  and  sometimes  on  strands  where  the  rise  of  the  tide  is  so 
rapid  that  the  gatherers  of  amber  find  it  necessary  to  seek  for  it  on 
horseback,  in  order  to  be  able  to  escape  from  the  returning  flood.  A 
single  piece  sometimes  sells  for  several  hundred  dollars,  but  success  in 
the  search  is  so  uncertain  that  it  is,  upon  the  whole,  an  unprofitable 
occupation. 

In  one  of  the  Xorth-Frisian  dialects,  amber  is  called  glees,  a  name 
known  to  none  of  the  Germanic  family,  but  which  is  evidently  identi 
cal  with  the  glesum  of  Tacitus  (whence  also  the  appellation  Insulee 
Glessariae,  or  amber-islands.)  Sed  et  mare  scrutantur,  ac  soli  omnium 
succinum,  quod  ipsi  glesum  vocant,  inter  vada  atque  in  ipso  litore, 
legunt.  Tacitus  de  Germania,  XLV.  Kohl,  Vol.  III.  p.  245. 

According  to  an  Arabian  traveller  of  the  tenth  century  cited  by 
Ritter,  Erdkunde,  XIII.  749,  the  camels  of  Hadhramaut  were  employed 
in  seeking  amber  upon  the  coasts  of  the  Red  Sea,  being  taught  to  kneel 
when  they  saw  it  glitter  in  the  moonshine. 


VIII. 

The  sand  was  drifting  up  day  and  night,  and  it  was  found  impossible 
to  make  the  windows  and  doors  tight  enough  to  exclude  it,  nor  did  it 
avail  to  shovel  out  the  perpetually  renewed  incumbrance.  Too  poor  to 
build  a  new  church,  the  people  continued  to  occupy  this  as  long  as 
possible. 

The  floor,  and  then  the  pews,  were  covered,  the  pulpit  itself  half 
buried  in  sand,  and  the  congregation  were  seated  upon  the  sand  around 
it.  At  last  the  church  was  so  nearly  filled  up  that  they  could  barely 
creep  in  at  a  window. 

Divine  service  was  now  held  in  the  church  for  the  last  time,  the  con 
gregation  broken  up,  and  the  building  sold. 

The  purchaser  employed  such  of  the  wood  as  he  could  save,  in  con 
structing  a  house,  reserving  the  altar  and  the  pulpit  for  finishing  the 
cabin  of  his  ship.  On  what  far  coast  the  vessel  with  her  consecrated 
cabin-furniture  was  stranded  at  last,  none  could  say.  Kohl,  Vol.  II. 
p.  157. 


APPENDIX  TO   WOLFE   OF  THE  KNOLL.  225 


IX. 

Sidi-Mohammed-el-Gandouz,  who  lived,  died  and  was  buried  on  the 
spot  where  the  piety  of  the  faithful  has  since  raised  the  marabout  or 
funeral-chapel  which  bears  his  name,  was  renowned  for  the  hospitality 
which  travellers  and  the  poor  received  from  him. 

Passing  caravans  aided  his  charities  by  leaving  with  him  dried  meat«, 
flour,  dates,  butter,  &c.,  which  he  distributed  among  the  poor,  whose 
supplies  were  exhausted,  and  the  indigent  pilgrims  who  came  to  visit 
him  and  pray  with  him.  The  practice  has  been  kept  up  since  his  de 
cease.  No  caravan  passes  his  tomb  without  stopping  to  pray  and  leave 
a  donation.  All  comers  are  allowed  to  enter  the  chapel,  eat  their  fill, 
and  satisfy  their  thirst ;  but  woo  to  him  who  should  carry  any  thing  away ! 
He  would  surely  perish  on  his  journey.  There  is  none  to  watch  the 
offerings,  but  there  is  no  instance  of  the  abuse  of  this  '  hospitality  of 
God.' 

Charity,  saith  the  Prophet,  extinguishes  sin,  as  water  quencheth  fire. 

It  closeth  seventy  gates  of  evil. 

An  angel  standeth  at  the  gates  of  Paradise,  crying ;  "  Whosoever 
giveth  alms  to-day,  shall  be  filled  to-morrow."  Daumas,l'Algerie.  95, 

X. 

In  the  year  1627,  four  Barbary  corsairs  visited  various  points  of 
the  coast  of  Iceland,  plundered  or  destroyed  churches,  houses,  and 
other  property,  killed  thirty  or  forty  of  the  natives,  and  carried  off 
three  hundred  and  fifty  captives,  among  whom  were  two  clergymen, 
with  their  families.  Several  causes,  among  which  the  principal  was 
the  treachery  of  persons  who  were  intrusted  with  means  to  ransom 
them,  prevented  their  release  until  1635. 

Some  of  them  having  become  renegades,  and  many  having  died  or 
been  sold  into  distant  slavery,  only  thirty-seven  were  found,  and  of 
these  but  thirteen  lived  to  regain  their  native  land.  A  brief  notice  of 
these  occurrences  will  be  found  in  Finn  Jensen's  Hist.  Eccl.  Islandiaj, 
Vol.  III.  p.  83,  and  more  particular  narratives  were  published  by  Olaf 
Egilsson,  one  of  the  captives,  by  Klas  Eyolfsson  and  by  Bjofn  a  Skardsa 
10* 


226  APPENDIX  TO   WOLFE   OF  THE  KNOLL. 

XI. 

Our  guide  drew  our  attention  to  a  roaring  sound  proceeding  from 
the  sea,  which  he  said  indicated  a  change  of  wind,  and  the  approach  of 
a  storm.  We  heard  a  distant  noise,  which  was  more  distinctly  percep 
tible  on  applying  the  ear  to  the  ground  on  the  flats.  Near  us  all  was 
still,  and  as  far  as  we  could  see,  the  finest  weather.  But  in  the  far  dis 
tance,  there  was  a  roaring  and  raging,  as  if  all  nature  was  in  commotion. 
We  could  hardly  imagine  that  it  proceeded  merely  from  the  concussion 
of  drops  of  water,  and  bubbles  of  foam.  It  sounded  as  if  beams  of  wood 
were  tumbling  over  each  other,  and  shattering  to  splinters,  and  often 
there  were  harsh  and  clearly  defined  noises,  as  if  a  heap  of  cannon  balls 
or  rocks  were  rolling  down  a  mountain.  The  sounds  indeed  were  not 
so  loud  as  when  near  at  hand,  but  they  were  sharper,  more  rattling  and 
crashing,  so  that  it  seemed  scarcely  possible  that  water  could  produce 
them.  Kohl,  II.  p.  27. 


POEMS. 


POEMS. 


JSTIOKTIIR    AND    SKATIII. 


THE  third  god  [after  Odin]  is  he  who  is  named  Niorthr  ;  he  dwells 
in  heaven,  Avhere  it  is  called  Noatun  ;  he  rules  the  going  of  the  wind, 
and  stills  the  sea  and  the  fire  ;  on  him  should  men  call  in  seafaring  and 
fishing.  He  is  so  rich  and  lucky,  that  he  can  give  to  those  who  ask 
him  much  land  or  loose-goods.  *  *  *  *  Niorthr  has  a  Avife  named 
Skathi,  the  daughter  of  the  giant  Thiassi.  Skathi  would  occupy  the 
dwelling-place  of  her  father ;  it  is  on  certain  fells,  where  it  is  called 
Thrumheimr ;  but  Niorthr  would  live  by  the  sea.  They  agreed  to 
this ;  that  they  would  stay  nine  nights  at  Thrumheimr,  and  then  other 
nine  at  Noatun.  And  when  Niorthr  came  back  to  Noatun  from  the 
fell,  he  chanted  this  : 

Tired  am  I  of  the  fell, 

I  was  not  long  there, 

Nine  nights  only ; 

The  wolves'  howling 

Seemed  to  me  ill, 

To  the  son";  of  the  swans. 


LeiS  erumk  fjoll, 
varka  ek  lengi, 
naetr  einar  ix*. ; 
ulfa  pytr 

mer  potti  illr  vera 
hja  songvi  svana. 

Then  Skathi  chanted  this  : 


Sofa  ek  mattat 
saefar  bedjum  d. 
fugls  jarmi  fyrir; 
sa  mile  vekr, 
er  af  viSi  kemr, 
morgun  hverjan  mar. 


Sleep  I  could  not 

On  the  sea  shore 

For  the  screaming  of  the  birds  ; 

He  wakes  me, 

That  comes  from  the  sea, 

The  mew,  every  morning. 


230 


POEMS. 


Then  Skathi  went  up  to  the  fells,  and  dwelt  in  Thrumheim.  She  runs 
much  on  snow-shoes,  carries  a  bow,  and  shoots  wild  animals ;  she  is 
styled  the  snow-shoe  goddess.  Edda  Snorra  Sturlusonar,  Gylfaginning, 
K.  23. 


SONG  OF  NIORTHR. 

I  WEDDED  fair  Skathi, 
The  mountain  nymph  free, 
And  bride  was  there  never 
More  winsome  than  she ; 
The  crimson  that  dyeth 
Her  cheek  and  her  lip, 
Is  richer  than  sunset 
On  ocean  asleep — 
Yet  my  stay  was  not  long — 
Nine  nights  and  no  more — though  my  love  was  so  strong  ! 

As  lustrous  and  wavy 
Her  ringlets  of  gold 
As  cloudlets  of  summer, 
Fold  rolling  o'er  fold. 


NIOETHR  AND   SKATHI.  231 

The  voice  of  her  laughter 
Is  sweet  as  the  brook's 
When  he  hides  in  the  valley 
'Neath  moss-covered  rocks. 
Yet  my  stay  was  not  long — 
Nine  nights  and  no  more — though  my  love  was  so  strong  ! 

The  towers  of  her  father 
Black  crags  overhung, 
And  downward,  till  evening, 
Their  cold  shadows  flung ; 
The  sun  they  close  followed, 
Still  holding,  the  while, 
Their  ice-covered  mantles 
'Twixt  us  and  his  smile. 
So  my  stay  was  not  long — 
Nine  nights  and  no  more — though  my  love  was  so  strong  ! 

For  how  could  I  slumber  ! 
All  night  the  storm's  breath 


POEMS. 


Wailed  low  through  the  valley 
Like  moanings  of  death, 
Then  smote,  in  its  fury, 
The  fir-tree  that  bowed, 
And  snapped  like  a  bow-string, — 
The  wolves  howled  aloud. 
So  my  stay  was  not  long — 
Nine  nights  and  no  more— though  my  love  was  so  strong ! 

Clouds  burst  on  the  summit, 
And  down  its  washed  side 
The  avalanche  thundered, 
The  hollows  replied. 
Then  prayed  I  fair  Skathi 
To  fly,  the  tenth  morn, 
With  me  to  the  sea-shore 
Whereon  I  was  born  ! 
Thus  my  stay  was  not  long — 
Nine  nights  and  no  more — though  my  love  was  so  strong ! 


NIOETHK  AND   SKATHI.  233 


SONG  OF  SKATHI. 

Oh,  Niorthr,  my  bridegroom, 
Was  comely  and  brave 
As  e'er  for  her  lover 
A  maiden  could  crave  ! 
But  he  ill  brooked  the  mountains, 
And  on  the  tenth  day, 
We  sought  the  wild  sea-shore 
Whereon  his  home  lay. 
Yet  my  stay  was  not  long — 
Nine  nights  and  no  more — though  my  love  was  so  strong  ! 

The  halls  of  his  father 
Stand  close  by  the  wave  ; 
Around  the  tide  lashes, 
The  ocean  gales  rave. 
There  how  could  I  slumber  ! 
All  night  the  salt  foam 


234: 


POEMS. 


Dashed  full  at  my  casement — 
I  wept  for  my  home — 
And  my  stay  was  not  long — 
Nine  nights  and  no  more — though  my  love  was  so  strong  ! 

At  dawn  scarce  I  slumbered 
When  lo,  the  wild  mew 
Came  over  the  water 
And  waked  me  anew  ! 
I  love  not  his  shrieking, 
I  love  not  the  roar 
Of  billows  high  breaking 
Against  the  steep  shore  ! 
So  my  stay  was  not  long — 
Nine  nights  and  no  more — though  my  love  was  so  strong  ! 

Above  the  mad  breakers, 
Hoarse  roaring  so  nigh, 
I  heard  the  poor  sailor's 
Last  choking  death  cry. 


NIOETHR  AXD   SKATHI.  235 

At  dawn,  the  tenth  morning, 
I  fled  to  the  fell, 
And  Niorthr  fast  followed, 
He  loved  me  so  well ; 
Yet  his  stay  was  not  long — 
Nine  nights  and  no  more — though  his  love  was  so  strong ! 

Again  he  was  restless — 
Grew  haggard — once  more 
I  bound  on  my  snow-shoes, 
We  flew  to  the  shore  ! 
There  soon  my  pale  bridegroom 
Refreshed  him  with  sleep, 
But  I — I  heard  ever 
The  dirge  of  the  deep  ! 
So  my  stay  was  not  long — 
Nine  nights  and  no  more — though  my  love  was  so  strong  ! 


A   FABLE. 

A  WIDOW,  poor  and  old  and  lonely, 
Whose  flock  once  numbered  many  a  score, 
Had  now  remaining  to  her  only 
One  little  lamb,  and  nothing  more. 

And  every  morning,  forced  to  send  it 
To  scanty  pastures  far  away, 
With  prayers  and  tears  did  she  commend  it 
To  the  good  saint  who  named  the  day. 

Nor  so  in  vain ;  each  kindly  patron — 

George,  Agnes,  Nicholas,  Genevieve — 

* 
Still  mindful  of  the  helpless  matron, 

Brought  home  her  lambkin  safe  at  eve. 


A  FABLE.  237 

All-saints'-day  dawns.     With  faith  yet  stronger, 
On  the  whole  hallowed  choir  the  dame 
Doth  call — to  one  she  prays  no  longer — 
That  day  the  \volf  devoured  the  lamb  ! 


THE  MAID  OF  THE  MEKEY  HEART 

AT  the  sunrise  hour  who  seeks  the  bower 

Of  the  Maid  of  the  Merry  Heart? 
'Tis  a  soldier  dight  in  armor  bright, 

And  he  comes  to  say — "  We  part." 

With  a  pleading  look  her  hand  he  took, 

And  his  pale  lips  trembled  long, 
Ere  the  timid  word  was  faintly  heard — 

"  One  kiss — it  will  make  me  strong." 

But  with  blushes  dyed,  the  maid  replied, 

"  'Tis  the  victor's  meed  I  trow  ! 
When  the  laurels  twine  that  brow  of  thine, 

Then  the  boon  will  I  bestow." 


THE  MAID  OF  THE  MERRY  HEART.        239 

"  And  if  with  the  dead,"  the  soldier  said, 

"  On  the  battle-field  I  lie, 
Forever  I  miss  the  costly  kiss 

That  thou  coldly  dost  deny ! " 

Then  a  playful  smile  she  tried,  the  while, 

And  a  careless  speech  to  frame — 
"  I  will  kiss  the  rose  that  freshly  blows 

O'er  thy  mound  of  deathless  fame — 

"  I  will  kiss  the  moss — the  holy  Cross 

Where  it  shines  above  thy  rest — " 
Ere  the  light  words  passed  her  tears  fell  fast, 

And  she  sunk  upon  his  breast. 


A   LAY    OF   THE    DANUBE. 
I. 

THE  WISSEHRAD. 

PILGRIM  of  the  imperial  Danube!  pause  'neath  yonder  height, 
Where  a  crumbling  castle  standeth  draped  in  sunset  light, 
Like  a  hoary  king,  stout-hearted,  who  his  throne  doth  fill, 
Though  with  age  he  tremble,  totter,  clad  in  shining  purple 
still ! 

Climb  those  towers,  and  mark  the  river  rolling  calm  and 
wide, 

Till  the  frowning  mountain-giants  dare  defy  his  tide  ! 

Mark  where  he,  through  flinty  columns,  cuts  a  pathway  free,— 

Dashes  rightward,  leftward,  forward,  throbbing,  panting,  to 
ward  the  sea ! 


A   LAY   OF   THE    DANUBE.  241 

On  those  banks  the  angry  nations  gathered  them  of  old, 
Northern  hordes  and  Southern   legions  joined  their  battles 

bold, 
Till  the  dark,  cold  waves  were  flowing  red  and  warm  with 

blood — 
Hideous  Hun  and  haughty  Roman,  how  they  choked  the 

crimson  flood ! 


There,  the  sweet  old  rhymers  tell  us,  Etzel  held  his  court, 
When  he  made,  at  Kriemhild's  suing,  feast  for  high  disport, 
Bidding  fair  her  royal  brothers  from  the  distant  Rhine — 
Ah  !  ill-fated  Nibelungen,  wherefore  did  ye  not  divine 

That  an  injured,  vengeful  woman, — though  her  message  fell 

Loving  as  became  a  sister — could  not  mean  you  well  ! 

All   in  vain   the    pitying    mermaids   warned    them   hence 

to  fly — 
There,  betrayed,  the  homelorn  heroes  died  as  heroes  still 

should  die ! 
11 


242  POEMS. 

'Neath  the  very  towers  thou  scalest,  now  the  spoil  of  fate, 
Once  a  noble  Magyar  monarch  kept  his  kingly  state — 
Great  Corvinus,  who  Mohammed's  flooding  hosts  could  stem, 
He  by  Rome's  throned  bishop  counted  worthiest  Stephen's 
diadem. 

There  below,  within  the  valley,  lay  his  gallant  men, 
Resting  from  their  hard-earned  triumphs  o'er  the  Saracen  ; 
And  a  strange,  wild  tale  is  told  us  from  that  gray  old  time, 
Ever  still  of  love  and  sorrow — would'st  thou  learn  it,  hear 
my  rhyme ! 

II. 
THE  MAGYAR  MAID. 

'Twas  a  day  when  Autumn  hazes  floated  soft  and  still, 
Lighter  than  Titania's  vesture,  over  sky  and  hill ; 
And  the  sun,  flushed  as  a  lover,  left  the  earth  so  fair 
With  his  golden  smiles  of  promise  filling  all  the  rosy  air. 


A   LAY   OF   THE   DANUBE.  243 

On  the  further  bank  a  maiden  stood,  at  that  sweet  hour, 
Pouring  o'er  the  bleaching  linen  fast  the  needful  shower. 
Humbly  born  this  duty  proved  her,  yet  if  queen  might  wear 
On  her  brow  such  regal  beauty,  crown  were  never  wanting 
there. 


Now  upon  the  turf  she  resteth,by  the  night-wind  fanned, 
Holding  still  the  dripping  pitcher  with  a  careless  hand, — 
More  like  some  immortal  keeper  of  a  fountain  head, 
Such  as  antique  sculptures  show  us,  than  a  simple  mortal 
maid. 


Yet  the  fires  of  shifting  passion  burn  in  her  dark  eye, 

And  her  lip  now  smiles,  now  trembles,  all  too  humanly  ; 

Toward  the  camp  her  face  still  turneth  through  that  change 
ful  cheer, 

And  the  anxious  glance  she  sendeth  now  is  longing,  now  is 
fear. 


244  POEMS. 

So  she  leaned  till  twilight  faded  and  the  moon's  broad  beam, 
Slanting  o'er  the  hills,  with  silver  bridged  the  quivering 

stream ; 

Yet  she  leaned,  all  breathless  watching,  till  a  shadow  ran, 
Swifter  than  the  winged  arrow,  full  across  that  shining  span. 

Sudden  o'er  those  marble  features  shot  a  passing  glow, 
Faint  as  Borealis-flashes  cast  on  Northern  snow, 
Then  a  cold  and  stiffening  tremor  shook  the  lovely  form, 
And  her  head  fell  like  the  lily  'neath  the  chariot  of  the  storm. 

Noiseless   as   the   downy-breasted   swan   might   toucH  the 

bank, 

Came  a  lightly  burthened  shallop  'gainst  the  rushes  dank  ; 
To  her  feet  the  maiden  started  as  a  soldier  sprung 
From  the  bark,  in  warrior  mantle,  and  his  arms  about  her 

flung. 

One  bright  smile  of  love  all  trusting  on  her  lips  there  lay 
Like  a  sunbeam,  then  grew  colder  till  it  died  away, 


A   LAY    OF   THE   DANUBE. 

And  a  cloud  of  doubt  spread  slowly  o'er  her  forehead  wide, 
While  beneath,  from  lids  uplifted,  shot  the  lightning-flash  of 
pride. 

Night's  thin  curtain  from  the   lover  could  not  hide  such 

change ; 
Low    he    questioned,    "  My   beloved,    wherefore   art   thou 

strange  ? 

Hath  false  friend  or  envious  rival  whispered  cause  of  fear  ? 
By  Saint  Stephen!  but  the  traitor  shall  aby  his  rashness  dear ! " 

Silent,  and  as  one  who  gathers  strength  for  utmost  need, 
For  a  moment  stood  the  maiden,  till  her  drooping  head 
Rested  meek  upon  his  shoulder — then,  with  rapid  gest, 
Back  she  threw  the  shrouding  mantle — and  the  monarch 
stood  confessed ! 

Swift  as  ever  slid  the  wild  bird  from  the  fowler's  hand, 
Through  his  clasping  arms  she  glided,  darted  toward  the 
strand, 


24:6  POEMS. 

And,  ere  he,  abashed,  bewildered,  of  her  thought  was  ware, 
Deep  beneath  the  rolling  river  plunged  her  shame  and  her 
despajr  ! 

Headlong  the  remorseful  lover  follows  down  the  wave, 
Catches  at  the  floating  raiment,  but  he  cannot  save — 
For  the  hero,  conscience-stricken,  weakens  to  a  child, — 
On  the  bank  once  more  he  standeth,pale  and  anguish- wild  ! 

Well,  CHking,  thy  heart  might  fail  thee !  never  from  that 

night, 

Cold  and  mute  a  spectral-shadow  ceased  to  haunt  thy  sight ! 
Blood  of  Paynim,  tears  repentant — all  in  vain  they  flowed, 
Still  the  sad,  reproachful  vision,  unappeased,  before  thee 

stood. 

Even  yet,  the  reapers  tell  us,  may  that  maid  be  seen 
When  the  tender  autumn  cometh,  rolling  mists  between ; 
From  the  parting  flood  she  ris^s  ere  the  stars  are  bright, 

And  her  phantom-web  outstretches  far,  to  bleach  beneath 
their  light. 


A   LAY    OF   THE   DANUBE.  24:7 

Then  a  tall  and  helmed  soldier  draweth  to  her  side, 

And  the  trembling  shade  doth  speed  her  'neath  the  wave  to 

hide! 

When  the  lingering  years,  they  tell  us,  to  a  thousand  run, 
Only  shall  the  lovers  rest  them  from  the  long,  long  penance 

done. 


DANIEL,    THE    CISTERCIAN. 


IN  the  gallery  of  the  monastery  of  Osseg,  one  of  the  oldest  religious 
foundations  in  Bohemia,  is  a  picture  representing  a  Cistercian  named 
Daniel,  whose  cell  is  illuminated  during  his  hours  of  nightly  study,  by 
a  light  proceeding  from  his  own  hand. 


APART,  on  bleak  Bohemian  height, 
The  gray  old  monastery  stood, 
Encircled  by  a  frowning  wood, 
And  'twas  the  dead  of  night. 

The  meek  Cistercian  in  his  cell 
Lay  watching  through  that  hour  of  gloom ; 
And  black  as  vaulted,  lampless  tomb, 
The  darkness  round  him  fell. 


DANIEL,    THE   CISTEKCIAN.  249 

What  shakes  him  1  not  the  storm  abroad — 
That  moves  in  his  calm  soul  no  fears — 
But,  through  its  awful  roar,  he  hears 
The  still  small  voice  of  God  ! 

"  Eise  !  son  of  man,  while  yet  'tis  night !  " — 
Such  were  the  words  the  whisper  spake — 
"  Rise  straightway  !  pen  and  parchment  take, 
And  what  I  bid  thee,  write  !  " 

Even  through  that  saintly  heart  there  sweeps 
A  questioning  thought,  "  O  how  obey  1 
Thick  is  the  darkness,  and  the  day 
Far  down  the  orient  sleeps !  " 

"  Rise  !  and  thy  God  shall  give  thee  light !  " 
Again  the  voice  commanding  said  ; 
Abashed,  he  started  from  his  bed, 

And  sought  wherewith  to  write. 
11* 


250  POEMS. 

Scarce  had  his  trembling  fingers  raised 
The  tablets,  felt  for  long  in  vain, 
When  lo  !  the  hand  that  touched  the  pen 
With  sudden  brightness  blazed  ! 

The  glory  filled  the  narrow  cell, 
And,  ever  as  the  monk  would  write, 
Still  from  his  hand  the  heavenly  light 
Full  on-  the  parchment  fell ! 

And  thou — hath  darkness  quenched  thy  day  ? 
Is  Fortune's  tempest  wild  without  1 
Within,  the  dreadful  night  of  doubt? 
In  what  thou  canst,  obey  ! 

"  Rise  !  walk  !  "  he  saith  ;  what  though  thy  track 
A  horror  of  great  darkness  hides  ! 
First  rise,  obedient,  as  he  bids, 
And  light  thou  shalt  not  lack  ! 


THE   FOUNTAIN    OF   THE    POOE. 

AN  ARAB  LEGEND. 

BISMILLAH  !  the  Merciful !  Full  of  Compassion  ! 
All  praise  be  to  Allah,  the  Lord  of  Creation  ! 

Sidi  Aomar — on  whom  be  peace  ! — 

Was  the  servant  of  God,  the  most  high ; 

He  was  poor,  yet  he  prayed  not  his  goods  might  increase, 

And  his  heart  ever  hated  the  lie. 

Rising  at  dawn,  in  his  tent's  low  door 

With  a  hand  ever  open  he  stood, 

Never  turning  his  face  from  the  old,  or  the  poor, 

Or  the  stranger  invited  of  God. 


252  POEMS. 

Eblis,  the  angel  that  fell,  was  wroth 

With  this  man  of  a  life  without  blame, 

And  he  sought  before  Allah,  with  impious  mouth, 

Both  his  faith  and  his  works  to  defame. 

"  Sidi  Aomar,  thy  slave,"  he  cried, 

"  Is  a  hypocrite  full  of  disguise  ! 

He  is  poor,  and  because  he  hath  naught,  in  his  pride 

Thus  he  feigneth  him  wealth  to  despise ! 

"  Give  him  but  riches  till  riches  abound, 
And  his  heart  will  soon  wander  from  thee  ! 
The  fair  slave,  the  fleet  steed,  and  the  flying  hound 
He  will  seek,  and  do  service  to  me  !  " 

God,  the  Companionless,  answering,  said, 

"  Thou  art  Eblis,  the  father  of  sin  ! 

Now  thy  witness  of  falsehood  be  on  thine  own  head 

That  the  soul  of  my  servant  would'st  win  !  " 


THE  FOUNTAIN  OF  THE  POOK.         253 

"  Give  me  then  leave,  that  eftsoons  I  show 

This  Aomar  as  weak  as  the  rest !  " 

"  On  the  morrow,  'twixt  dawn  and  the  sunrising,  go, 

Put  the  strength  of  my  saint  to  the  test ! 

"  Yet  ware  thee  well,  for,  a  trembling  slave, 
Thou  shalt  serve  him  henceforth,  if  thou  fail !  " 
"  Be  it  so,"  said  the  fiend,  "  and  no  better  I  crave, 
If  I  know  not  the  man  I  assail." 

"  Prayer,"  said  Aomar,  "  is  better  than  sleep  !  " 
As  he  rose  ere  his  eye,  by  the  light 
That  so  doubtfully  hovered  afar  on  the  steep, 
Could  discern  the  black  thread  from  the  white.* 

Solemn  and  glad,  to  the  scanty  well 

Of  his  tribe,  like  a  prophet  he  goes — 

Lo  !  the  pitcher,  that  there  he  hath  bowed  him  to  fill, 

With  the  purest  of  silver  o'erflows  ! 


*  The  morning  prayer  of  the  faithful  Mohammedan  should  commence 
as  soon  as  he  can  distinguish  a  white  thread  from  a  black  one. 


254 


POEMS. 


"  Giver  of  life  !  "  said  Aomar,  "  I  sought 

* 

Not  this  silver,  but  water  alone 

For  ablution,  that  pure,  as  the  prophet  hath  taught, 

I  might  send  up  my  prayers  to  thy  throne  !  " 

Casting  the  treasure  among  the  sands, 

Yet  again  the  full  crock  doth  he  raise — 

It  is  brimmed,  not  with  water  for  worshipping  hands, 

But  with  gold  of  the  ruddiest  blaze  ! 

"  Hearer  of  prayer  !  "  said  this  mortal  meek, 

As  he  poured  the  red  gold  on  the  earth, 

"  Not  the  wealth  of  this  world,  but  pure  water  I  seek, 

That  for  Thee  hath  a  holier  worth  !  " 

Yet  once  again  from  the  well  he  drew, 
And  behold  !  with  a  flash  like  the  sun 
At  his  rising,  rich  jewels,  in  gush  ever  new, 
His  rude  pitcher  of  clay  overrun. 


THE  FOUNTAIN  OF  THE  POOE.          255 

Silent  he  gazed,  and  with  troubled  eye, 

On  the  jets  as  they  blindingly  played ; 

Then  to  earth  cast  the  crock  with  a  penitent  sigh, 

And  with  forehead  uplifted  he  said, 

"  How  have  I  sinned,  O  thou  Giver  of  good  ! 
That  this  day  thou  dost  water  deny  1 
Must  I  wash  then  with  sand  like  the  pilgrim  on  road, 
When  he  prays  where  no  well-spring  is  nigh  ? " 

Scarce  had  he  spoke  when  a  crystal  tide 
Bathed  his  brow  with  its  fresh'ning  spray  ! 
And  the  flow  of  that  fountain  shall  never  be  dried ! 
'Tis  the  '  Well  of  the  Poor'  to  this  day ! 

Amen !    be  the  life  of  the  living  contrition ! 
The  bed  of  the  dying,  the  bed  of  submission'! 


THE    WATEK    OF    EL   AKBAIN 

O'ER  wide  Arabian  deserts  toiling  slow, 

With  heat  and  travel  spent, 
With  fever  parched,  our  zemzemieh  *  lo\vr, 

Day  after  day  we  went. 

Till  now  at  Sinai's  granite  foot  we  lay, 

The  noontide  sun  "beat  sore  ; 
Then  we  arose  and  took  our  weary  way 

Through  sand  and  flints  once  more. 

Close  was  the  rugged  valley,  dry  and  bare, 

Walled  in  with  adamant, 
Whose  sides  reverberant,  with  blinding  glare, 

Hurled  back  each  sun-dart  slant. 

*  Xarue  given  to  the  leathern  water-bottle  used  in  the  East. 


THE  WATER   OF   EL   ARBAIN.  257 

Yet  onward  still  with  trembling  limbs  we  trod, 

As  erst  the  chosen  flock  ; 
\nd  saw  where  legend  saith  their  prophet's  rod 

Had  cleft  the  eternal  rock. 

But  thence,  alas  !  no  crystal  streams  now  rolled 

The  thirsty  soul  to  bless  ; 
Alone  remained,  of  all  those  marvels  old, 

The  fiery  wilderness. 

At  length  with  blackened  lip  and  bloodshot  eye, 

Scorched  by  the  Simoom's  breath, 
I  turned  in  anguish  toward  the  brazen  sky, 

And  prayed  for  drink — or  death. 

• 
Then  darkness  gathered  o'er  my  swimming  sight, 

Fast  whirled  the  dizzy  brain, 
And  the  hot  fever-throb,  with  fuller  might, 
Coursed  through  each  bursting  vein. 


258 


POEMS. 

Still  to  the  fainting  pilgrim  words  of  cheer 

The  sons  of  Ishmael  spake, 
Told  of  a  well  of  living  water  near, 

That  deathly  thirst  to  slake  ; 

And  pointed  to  a  verdant  garden-close 

Within  the  vision's  scope, 
Where  El  Arbai'n's  rude,  shattered  arches  rose 

On  Horeb's  blasted  slope. 

There,  pillowed  soon  beneath  that  welcome  shade, 

I  heard  the  fountain's  drip, 
Then  felt  the  o'erflowing  cup  of  coolness  laid 

Against  my  burning  lip. 

» 
Oh!  never  juice,  drawn  from  the  choicest  vine 

Whose  favored  root  is  fed 
At  the  pure  sources  of  the  boasted  Rhine, 
Or  oldest  river's  head, — 


THE   WATER   OF  EL  AKBAlK.  259 

Nay,  not  Valhalla's  honey 'd  cup  so  rare, 

By  souls  of  heroes  quaffed, 
Not  old  Olympian  nectar  might  compare 

With  that  divinest  draught ! 

Cold  as  the  ice-born  flood  from  Northern  steep, 

Clearer  than  Indian  wave, 
Sweet  as  nepenthe  drowning  care  in  sleep, 

A  second  life  it  gave. 

O  quickening  fount!  may  thy  bright  currents  roll 

In  everlasting  flow, 
And  on  the  latest  wanderer's  fainting  soul 

A  blessing  like  bestow ! 

Know,  too,  O  mortal,  thou  whose  rougher  path 

Lies  through  a  world  of  sin, 
Without,  the  deadly  arrows  of  its  wrath, 

Its  fever-fire  within, — 


260  POEMS. 

When  sorrow,  doubt,  despair  assail  thy  life, 

Till  thy  crushed  heart  confess 
It  fain  would  choose,  before  such  bitter  strife, 

The  grave  of  Nothingness, — 

A  well-spring,  whose  high  source  is  heaven,  doth  wait 

Upon  thy  travail  sore  ; 
There  drink!  and  thou  shalt  rise  as  re-create, 

Nor  thirst  for  evermore ! 


AXEL. 

FKOM  THE  SWEDISH  OF  TEGNER. 

ESAIAS  TEGNER,  Bishop  of  Wexio,  the  greatest  of  Swedish  poets, 
was  born  in  1782,  and  after  a  distinguished  academical  as  well  as  pro 
fessional  career,  died  in  1846.  His  most  celebrated  work  is  Frithiofs 
Saga,  which  has  been  made  accessible  to  the  English-speaking  public 
by  five  or  six  translations,  none  of  them,  however,  by  any  means  satis 
factory.  But  his  reputation  was  first  established  by  several  lyrical 
pieces,  by  the  Children  of  the  Supper,  so  finely  rendered  by  Long 
fellow,  and  by  AXEL,  a  version  of  which  is  here  given  in  the  metre  of 
the  original.  When  the  present  translation  was  made,  the  author  of 
it  was  not  aware  that  AXEL  had  ever  appeared  in  an  English  dress,  but 
she  has  recently  seen  parts  of  a  version  by  Latham,  and  a  complete 
one  by  Bethune.  The  former  of  these  would  not  have  deterred  her 
from  undertaking  another,  and  she  hopes  that  the  one  here  offered 
may  not  be  found  inferior  even  to  the  latter  in  closeness  of  conformity 
to  the  spirit  and  letter  of  the  original. 

The  olden  time  is  dear  to  me, 

The  olden  time  of  CHARLES'S  glory, 

Gladsome  as  conscience  pure,  its  story, 

And  spirited  as  victory. 

In  Northern  lands,  its  reflex  even 


262 


POEMS. 

Yet  lingers  on  the  verge  of  heaven, 

And  forms  majestic  come  and  go, 

In  yellow  belt  and  tunic  blue, 

Where  red  the  sky  of  evening  burneth. 

With  awe  mine  eye  upon  you  turneth, 

Ye  heroes  of  an  age  more  bright, 

With  martial  buff  and  broad-sword  dight ! 

One  veteran  from  that  age  victorious, — 
In  childhood's  days  I  knew  him  well — 
Erect  he  stood  amongst  us  still, 
A  trophy  ruined,  but  yet  glorious. 
With  silver  of  a  century  shone 
His  locks,  (to  him  none  else  was  given,) 
And  on  his  brow  deep  scars  were  graven 
Like  runes  on  monumental  stone. 
True  he  was  poor  ;  yet  he  but  jested 
With  poverty,  familiar  grown  ; 
Frugal  as  in  the  field,  alone 
Within  his  woodland  hut  he  rested. 


AXEL.  263 

Two  treasures  did  the  old  man  own, 

'Gainst  which  earth's  wealth  as  nothing  weighed, 

His  Bible,  and  his  trusty  blade 

With  CHARLES  THE  TWELFTH  writ  fair  thereon. 

The  great  king's  deeds,  now  found  recited, 

Where  countless  pens  have  them  indited, 

(For  wide  that  eagle  flew  around,) 

Stood  in  his  memory  recorded, 

Ranged  like  the  urns  of  warriors  hoarded 

Within  a  grassy  funeral  mound. 

When  he  some  great  exploit  was  showing 

Of  young  King  Charles,  his  '  blue  boys '  bold, 

How  high  he  held  his  forehead  old, 

With  what  a  fire  his  eye  was  glowing  ! 

And  from  his  lips  each  word  that  fell 

Rung  like  the  clash  of  smiting  steel. 

Far  into  night  he  often  sat 

Talking  of  former  days  so  famed, 

And  never,  when  King  Charles  was  named, 

Would  fail  to  lift  his  well-worn  hat, 


264 


POEMS. 

Wondering  I  stood  beside  his  knee, 
(For  scarcely  higher  reached  my  head,) 
And  pictures  of  those  heroes  dead 
From  boyhood  still  remain  to  me, 
And  tales  now  half-forgotten  lie 
Dimly  within  my  memory, 
As  'neath  the  snow  sleeps  in  its  seed 
The  lily,  when  its  flower  is  fled. 

Peace  to  his  ashes  !  they  repose 
Long  since  within  the  quiet  earth. 
The  saga  his  ;  take  it,  O  North, 
And  weep  with  me  o'er  AXEL'S  woes  ! 
But  'gainst  the  old  man's  words  of  flame 
My  simple  rhymes  must  needs  be  tame. 

The  mighty  monarch  lay  at  Bender ; 
His  wasted  lands  had  no  defender, 
Disgraced  his  name,  so  glorious  late, 
And  as  a  wounded  champion  yet 


AXEL.  265 

Fights,  though  on  bended  knee,  and  feeling 

The  chill  of  death  upon  him  stealing, 

So  fought  each  man  behind  his  shield, 

Desperate,  but  scorning  still  to  yield  ; 

For  hope  of  rescue  there  was  none 

In  any  breast  save  his  alone. 

The  king,  though  hurricanes  were  shaking 

The  leaves  of  fate,  though  earth  seemed  quaking, 

Stood  calm  as  arch  that  hath  defied 

The  bursting  bomb  'mid  ruins  wide, 

Or  rock  that  breasts  the  raging  wave, 

Or  Fortitude  beside  a  grave. 

One  evening  he  to  AXEL  said, 

x 

"  Take  thou  this  letter  !  "—and  he  laid 
The  missive  in  his  hand — "  now  ride 
Towards  Sweden  straight,  this  even- tide. 
See  that  thou  rest  not,  day  or  night, 

Till  our  old  mountains  greet  thy  sight ; 
12 


266  POEMS. 

Before  my  council  there  thou'lt  lay 
The  letter — and  God  speed  thy  way  !  " 

Young  Axel  loves  to  ride  amain  ! 
The  letter  in  his  belt  with  joy 
He  hides.     His  sire,  at  Holofzin, 
Fell  fighting  by  his  king  ;  the  boy — 
Thenceforth  the  camp's  adopted  child — 
Grew  up  'mid  wars  and  tumults  wild. 
'Twas  a  fair  form,  such  as  our  North 
Doth  sometimes  even  yet  bring  forth, 
Fresh  as  a  rose,  but  tall  and  slim 
As  Sweden's  firs  in  youthful  prime. 
His  arched  brow  was  high  and  clear 
As  heaven's  vault  when  no  cloud  is  there, 
And  every  feature  bore  impress 
Of  frankness  and  of  earnestness. 
His  eye  transparent  seemed  as  given 
To  look  with  hope  and  confidence 
Up  to  the  God  of  day  in  Heaven, 


AXEL.  267 

Yet  without  fear  to  turn  their  glance 
Downward  to  him,  who,  shorn  of  light, 
Dwells  'neath  the  shadow  of  the  night. — 

Tn  the  king's  guard  'twas  his  to  hold 

A  place  among  his  soul's  own  kin  ; 

A  little  band,  whose  number  told 

Seven,  like  the  stars  of  Charles's  Wain, 

Or,  like  the  Muses,  nine  at  most, 

All  strictly  chosen  from  the  host ; 

By  fire  and  sword  proved  well  and  long, 

A  troop  of  Christian  vikings  strong, 

Not  unlike  those  who  whilom  clave 

With  dragon-ships  the  dark-blue  wave. 

Within  no  bed  might  they  repose ; 

On  the  hard  earth  their  cloaks  they  spread, 

And  there,  mid  storms  and  drifting  snows, 

Slept  calmly  as  on  flowery  mead. 

A  horse-shoe  with  the  naked  hand 

They  twisted.     None  e'er  saw  them  stand 


268  POEMS. 

Eound  chimney  fires  ;  they  rather  chose 
The  \varmth  of  heated  ball  that  glows 
lied  as  the  day-star,  when  he  sets 
In  blood  on  Northern  winter  nights. 
It  was  their  law,  that  on  the  field 
To  less  than  seven  one  might  not  yield, 
E'en  in  retreat  must  face  the  foe, 
A  flying  back  they  might  not  show. 
Lastly,  this  law — and  harder  yet, 
Perhaps,  than  all  the  rest  beside — 
None  on  a  maid  his  heart  might  set, 
Till  Charles  himself  should  take  a  bride. 
Though  eyes  of  heavenly  blue  might  shine, 
Or  rosy  lips  wear  smiles  divine, 
However  snowy  breasts  might  heave, 
Like  swans  rocked  on  the  limpid  wave, 
Nor  eye  nor  heart  the  charm  must  feel, 
For  each  was  married  to  his  steel. 

Young  Axel  saddled  glad  his  steed, 


AXEL. 

And  rode  both  day  and  night  with  speed, 
Till  he  on  Ukraine's  border  stood — 
A  flash  of  steel  within  the  wood  ! 
Sabres  and  lances  quick  upspring, 
And  round  him  close  a  glittering  ring. 
"  Dispatches  thou  dost  bear  from  Bender  ; 
Dismount,  and  to  my  hand  surrender 
Thy  charge, — or  die  !  "     His  ready  blade 
A  plain,  a  Swedish  answer  made  ; 
Grown  sudden  meek,  the  speaker  bowed 
To  earth,  and  weltered  in  his  blood.    • 
With  back  against  an  oak-tree  stayed, 
His  desperate  game  the  hero  played. 
At  every  whiz  of  his  good  sword 
A  knee  was  bowed,  and  life-blood  poured. 
Nobly  he  kept  the  oath  they  made — 
One  against  seven — why,  that  were  naught ! 
One  against  twenty,  flew  his  blade. 
He  fought  as  once  Rolf  Krake  fought, 
Striving,  since  hope  of  life  was  none. 


270  POEMS. 

For  company  in  death  alone ; 

And  gashes  purple-lipped  declare 

His  fate  inevitably  near  ; 

The  blood  around  his  heart  grows  chill, 

His  hand,  though  glued  to  sword-hilt  still, 

Is  numbed ;  thick  shadows  veil  his  sight, 

And  faint  he  sinks  to  darkest  night. 

Halloo  !  the  woods  are  echoing  round  ! 
And  falcon  bold,  and  trusty  hound 
Pursue  their  game.     Behold  !  a  troop 
Of  flying  huntsmen  gallops  up, 
And,  dashing  foremost  of  the  train, 
On  dappled  steed,  in  habit  green, 
With  rosy  cheeks,  fair  as  the  sun, 
Rides,  whirlwind  like,  an  amazon. 
The  robber-band  affrighted  fled, 
Her  courser  started  at  the  dead  ; 
Then  with  a  bound  she  leaped  to  earth — 
And  there  he  lay,  stretched  like  an  oak 


AXEL.  271 

Among  the  brushwood,  by  the  stroke 

Of  a  fierce  tempest  from  the  north. 

How  fair  he  seemed,  though  bathed  in  blood ! 

And  leaning  over  him  now  stood, 

MARIA,  as  once  Dian  fair 

Descending  from  her  heavenly  sphere, 

On  Latmos,  from  the  chase  withdrawn, 

Stood  over  her  Endymion. 

The  sleeper  that  enchanted  her 

Than  this  could  not  be  lovelier. 

Within  his  pierced  and  mangled  breast 

A  spark  of  life  yet  feebly  glows, 

And  straight  her  followers  frame  in  haste 

A  litter  of  the  greenwood  boughs  ; 

And  placing  him  thereon  with  care, 

They  bear  him  to  her  dwelling  near. 

The  maiden  sat  beside  his  bed, 
With  pity  filled  and  anxious  dread, 
And  on  those  features  pale  she  cast 


272  POEMS. 

s* 

A  look  whose  worth  a  realm  surpassed ; 
She  sat  beside  him  like  a  rose, 
In  fair  but  now  fast  wasting  Greece, 
Wild  and  luxuriant  that  grows 
Beside  a  fallen  Hercules. 
At  length  from  deathly  swoon  he  wakes, 
Looks  round  amazed,  and  hurried  speaks. 
Alas  !  his  eyes, but  late  so  mild, 
Have  suddenly  grown  fixed  and  wild. 
"  Where  am  1 1     Girl,  what  wouldst  thou  have  ? 
No  woman's  eye  may  rest  on  me, 
No  tears  of  thine  my  wounds  may  lave  ! 
To  Charles  I've  sworn  it  solemnly. 
My  father  walks  the  Milky  Way  ! 
He's  wroth  !  that  oath  he  heard  me  say  ! 
And  yet  how  fair  to  mortal  sense 
The  enchantress  !     Demon !  get  thee  hence  ! 
Where  is  my  belt  1     My  letter  and — 
'Twas  written  by  the  king's  own  hand ! 
My  father's  sword  is  good  !     It  bites 


AXEL.  273 

Right  greedily  the  Muscovites 

What  joy  to  strike,  and  see  them  fall  ! 

Oh,  that  King  Charles  had  witnessed  all ! 

They  fell  like  grain  before  the  knife  ! 

I  half  seemed  wounded  in  the  strife. — 

The  letter  I  to  Stockholm  bear, 

My  honor's  pledged  to  take  it  there. 

Dear  are  the  moments  !     Up  !  to  horse  !  " — 

Such,  wild  with  fever,  his  discourse ; 

And  then  the  hero  deathly  pale 

Back  on  his  quiet  pillow  fell. 

Then  death  contended  long  with  life 
Over  the  youth  in  doubtful  strife. 
Life  conquered ;  slow  the  peril  passed. 
And  Axel  now  could  view,  at  last, 
With  conscious  eye,  though  weak  and  dim, 
The  angel  that  still  watched  by  him, — 
Not  one  of  those  idyllic  maids, 
Who  sighing  walk  in  verdant  shades, 


274 


POEMS. 

A  counterfeit  of  pining  thought, 
With  tresses  yellow  as  the  light, 
Cheeks  pale  as  violet  of  the  night, 
And  eyes  like  the  forget-me-not. 
Eastern  her  blood  ;  her  black  locks  lie, 
Like  midnight  round  a  bed  of  roses, 
Where  on  her  forehead  bold  and  high 
Glad  courage — the  sole  true — reposes  ; 
Like  victory  graven  on  the  shield 
That  warrior-maiden  bears  in  field. 
Her  hue  fresh  as  in  painters'  dreams 
Aurora  crowned  with  radiant  beams ; 
In  form  she  seemed  an  Oread, 
And  dancing  was  her  step  and  glad. 
And  high  her  swelling  bosom  heaves 
With  youth  and  health  ;  together  weaves 
The  lily  with  the  rose  her  frame ; 
Her  soul  a  pure  ethereal  flame, 
A  southern  summer-heaven  complete 
With  sun  and  flowery  odors  sweet. 


AXEL.  275 

And  in  her  eye's  dark  glance  there  strove 
A  heavenly  and  an  earthly  light, 
Now  flashing  like  the  bird  of  Jove 
Proudly  from  the  empyrean  height, 
Now  mild  as  Aphrodite's  doves 
Drawing  the  chariot  of  the  Loves. 

O,  Axel !  of  thy  wounds  the  smart 
Soon  passes,  only  scars  remain  ; 
Without,  thy  breast  is  cured  of  pain ; 
But  ah  !  how  fares  it  with  thy  heart  ? 
Look  not  so  loving  on  the  hand 
That  binds  thy  wounds  with  healing  band — 
The  hand  that  white  as  marble  shows — 
In  thine  it  never  may  repose ! 
It  bears  more  peril  to  thy  peace 
Than  those  hard  hands  of  Osmanlis, 
That  late  at  Bender  thou  hast  seen 
With  sabre  armed  and  carabine. 
Those  fresh  red  lips,  that  only  ope 


276  POEMS. 

To  breathe  of  comfort  and  of  hope, 
In  tones  as  from  the  spirit-world — 
'Twere  better  thou  shouldst  hear  again 
On  Pultowa's  ensanguined  plain 
The  thunderbolts  Czar  Peter  hurled  ! 
When,  trembling  and  with  pallid  mien, 
Thou  goest  to  breathe  the  summer  balm, 
On  thine  own  sword,  O  Axel !  lean, 
And  not  upon  that  rounded  arm, 
Which  seems  as  'twere  by  Cupid  made 
To  be  the  pillow  for  his  head. 

Wonder  of  heaven  and  earth  !  O,  Love  ! 
Thou  breath  from  blissful  realms  above  ! 
Spark  of  Divinity,  that  cheers 
Our  darkness  in  this  vale  of  tears  ! 
In  Nature's  breast  the  beating  heart, 
Comfort  of  Gods  and  men  thou  art ! 
Drop  seckcth  drop  in  ocean's  bed, 
And  all  the  stars  above  us  tread, 


AXEL.  277 


Whirling  from  pole  to  pole,  each  one 

A  bridal  dance  around  its  sun. 

Still  art  thou  to  the  human  soul 

A  reflex,  faint  memorial, 

Of  brighter,  better  days,  when,  even 

Yet  but  a  child,  she  dwelt  in  heaven — 

That  azure  hall,  whose  roof  is  set 

With  many  a  starry  crown  of  light, 

Where  nightly  she,  with  joy  o'erblest, 

Sank  in  her  father's  arms  to  rest. 

Rich  as  the  gifts  of  fancy  are, 

Her  only  language  then  was  prayer, 

And  every  fair  and  winged  child 

Of  heaven  on  her  a  brother  smiled. 

She  fell  to  earth  !  since  that,  not  even 

Her  love  is  pure ;  yet  doth  she  trace, 

With  joy,  in  the  beloved's  face, 

Some  look  of  former  friends  in  heaven  ; 

And  song  of  poet  or  of  spring 

Doth  to  her  ear  their  lost  tones  bring. 


278  POEMS. 

Oh,  happy  is  the  exile  then, 
As  wandering  Swiss,  who  hears  again 
Some  note  of  home,  that  doth  restore 
Boyhood  and  Alpine  heights  once  more  !. 

'Twas  evening  !     Twilight  wrapped  in  gold 
Lay  dreaming  on  her  western  bed, 
And,  mute  as  Egypt's  priests  of  old, 
The  stars  their  solemn  marches  led. 
And  earth  below  that  sky  so  fair 
Stood  like  a  bride,  in  whose  dark  hair 
Rich  gems  are  flashing,  blush  and  smile 
Playing  beneath  her  veil  the  while. 
Tired  with  the  pleasures  of  the  day, 
In  smiling  sleep  the  Naiad  lay, 
And  tranquil  Evening  sat  at  rest, 
A  red  rose  shining  on  her  breast. 
The  little  Cupids,  that  had  lain 
Bound  by  the  sunshine,  free  again, 
Now  gaily  on  the  moonbeams  ride, 


AXEL.  279 

With  bow  and  quiver  at  their  side, 

Where  Spring,  through  greenwood  arches,  late 

Made  entry  in  triumphal  state. 

Forth  from  the  oak  the  nightingale 

Strikes  out  her  song  that  fills  the  vale — 

Soft,  innocent,  and  pure  that  strain, 

As  some  sweet  lyric  of  Franzen. 

In  all,  it  seemed  as  Nature  said, 

'  Behold,  the  hour  for  tryst  is  made  ! ' 

All  life,  yet  silence  so  complete, 

Thou  mightst  have  heard  her  great  heart  beat. — 

Then,  conscious  of  the  happy  charm, 
The  youthful  pair  walked  arm  in  arm. 
As  plighted  lovers  rings,  so  these 
Exchanged  their  childhood's  memories. 
He  talked  of  bright  days  when  he  dwelt 
'Neath  the  red  roof  maternal,  built 
Of  the  hewn  fir-tree,  and  that  rose 
Among  the  pines  mid  Northern  snow.s  ; 


280  POEMS. 

Of  the  dear  land  where  he  was  bred  ; 
Brothers  and  sisters  long  since  dead. 
He  told,  as  well,  how,  many  a  time, 
The  old,  the  deep  heroic  rhyme, 
And  saga-volume  parchment-bound, 
Had  wakened  longings  so  profound 
For  great  exploit.     In  dreams  of  night 
He  seemed  a  warrior  armed  for  fight, 
And  mounted  on  the  tall  steed  Grane, 
Like  mythic  Sigurd  Fafnisbane, 
He  rode  through  magic  fire-wall  straight 
To  sage  Brynhilda's  castle  gate, 
That  flaming  in  the  moonlight  stood, 
Encircled  by  a  laurel  wood. 
The  house  grew  close,  his  breath  not  free, 
Then  to  the  forest  would  he  flee, 
And  climbing,  with  a  boy's  delight, 
The  fir-top  where  the  eagles  light, 
Would  sit,  rocked  by  the  northern  blast, 
Till  cheek  and  heart  were  cooled  at  last. 


AXEL.  281 

What  joy  to  mount  the  swift  cloud-car 

That  rolls  above  him,  and  afar 

Be  borne  beyond  the  narrow  seas 

Out  to  a  fairer  world  than  this, 

Where  Victory  beckons,  Glory  stands, 

Chaplets  for  heroes  in  her  hands, 

And  where  King  Charles,  (whom  scarce  he  owns 

Seven  years  his  senior),  plucketh  crowns 

With  his  good  sword,  and  instantly — 

0  how  divine  ! — gives  them  away  ! 

"  At  fifteen,  could  my  mother's  fears 
No  longer  keep  me ;    bathed  in  tears 

1  fell  upon  her  bosom ;  then 

Toward  Poland  turned  my  steps,  since  when, 

As  watch-fire  steady,  my  life's  flame 

Hath  burned  amid  the  battle-game. 

Yet  never  parent  bird  I  see 

Feeding  its  young  caressingly, 

Never  upon  a  fair  child  look 

Playing  with  flowers  beside  the  brook, 


282  POEMS. 

But,  sudden,  war's  attractions  cease, 
And  in  my  soul  sweet  thoughts  of  Peace 
Arise,  with  groves  and  golden  grain, 
And  laughing  children  in  her  train  ; 
And  by  a  quiet  cottage  door, 
The  rosy  twilight  glowing  o'er 
Her  face,  a  maiden  stands,  the  same 
That  oft  has  blessed  my  boyhood's  dream. 
Of  late,  these  images  of  rest 
My  soul  unceasing  have  possessed. 
I  close  my  eyelids  ;  they  appear 
Only  more  life-like  and  more  clear, 
And  she  who  crowneth  every  scene — 
Maria !  thou  art  still  that  queen  !  " 

Confused  and  blushing  said  the  maid, 
"  Happy  the  lot  of  man  indeed  ! 
Strong  man  !  no  fetter  beareth  he, 
E'en  from  his  childhood,  is  he  free. 
And  danger's  charms,  and  glory's  crown, 


AXEL.  283 


And  heaven  and  earth  are  all  his  own. 
But  woman — hers  a  different  lot ! 
Man's  mere  appendage  to  the  last ; 
A  bandage  for  his  wounds ;  forgot 
Soon  as  the  fretting  pain  is  past ! 
She  is  the  offering,  he  the  fire 
That  glorious  heavenward  doth  aspire  ! — 
My  sire  in  Peter's  wars  did  fall, 
My  mother's  face  I  scarce  recall. 
The  desert's  daughter  grew  up  wild 
Within  these  walls,  an  idol  child 
Honored  by  slaves,  who  meek  endure 
Each  vain  caprice  of  tyrant  power. 
A  noble  spirit  feels  its  shame, 
Dwelling  with  souls  so  basely  tame ! 
Hast  ever  on  our  boundless  plain 
Seen  the  wild  steed  of  noble  strain  ? 
Fiery  as  hero,  fleet  as  hind, 
He  scorns  to  own  a  master's  care ; 
With  ears  erect,  turned  to  the  wind, 


284  POEMS. 

He  stands  and  scents  the  danger  near, 
Then  scouring  in  a  whirlwind  cloud 
Of  dust,  o'er  the  wide  steppe  he  flies, 
Fights  his  own  fights  with  hoof  unshod, 
Untamed  enjoys,  untamed  he  dies  ! 
*  Sons  of  the  wilderness  so  free, 
How  fair,  how  blest,  your  life  must  be  ! ' 
I  cried,  and  bade  them  check  their  speed, 
Whene'er  my  neighing  Tatar  steed, 
A  bitted  slave,  e'en  to  a  word 
Obedient,  bore  me  to  the  herd; 
But  the  troop  heeded  not  my  cry, 
And,  scornful  snorting,  thundered  by. 
Nor  could  my  spirit  free  as  air 
The  castle's  endless  sameness  bear  ; 
With  zeal  I  learned  the  sylvan  war, 
'Gainst  bird  and  beast  of  prey  went  forth, 
And  oft  scarce  saved  from  paw  of  bear 
A  life  that  only  then  had  worth. 
But  ah  !  we  bend  not  Nature's  will ; 


AXEL.  285 


In  lowly  hut,  or  on  the  throne, 

A  seamstress  or  an  amazon, 

The  woman  is  the  woman  still ; 

A  vine  that  droops  if  naught  sustain, 

A  being  of  its  half  forlorn, 

To  whom  all  joys  unshared  are  vain, 

Whose  every  pleasure  is  twin-born  ! 

This  quick  pulsation  that  is  fraught 

With  suffering,  yet  a  joy  to  feel — 

This  longing  for  I  know  not  what, 

So  painful  and  so  gladsome  still — 

It  hath  no  aim,  it  hath  no  bound ; 

As  if  on  wings,  I  leave  the  ground 

And  soar  to  Heaven,  whose  starry  dome 

Of  blest  immortals  is  the  home, 

Then  downward  to  the  earth  I  fall, 

To  you,  dear  forms !  familiar  all ; 

Ye  trees  that  with  me  have  grown  up, 

Thou  hillock  with  thy  flowery  top, 

Thou  brook  with  all  thy  songs  of  love — 


286  POEMS. 

I've  seen,  I've  heard  you,  all  these  years, 

But  as  a  statue  sees  and  hears. 

Now  firstj  now  first,  my  heart  ye  move ! 

I  feel  my  soul,  less  selfish  grown, 

Is  of  a  purer,  higher  tone 

Since  first," — but  here  a  sudden  red 

The  maiden's  features  overspread  ; 

She  paused;  a  smothered  sigh  confessed 

The  thought  her  words  but  half  expressed. 

His  song  renews  the  nightingale, 

While  lists  the  moon,  'neath  cloudy  veil ; 

And  in  a  long  unending  kiss 

As  warm  as  life,  nor  faithful  less 

Than  the  still  grave,  their  souls,  set  free, 

Melted  in  one  blest  harmony  ! 

They  kissed  as  on  the  altar-stone 

Two  flames  kiss  and  become  but  one, 

Which,  glowing  with  a  stronger  light, 

Soars  loftier  in  its  heavenward  flight. 


AXEL.  .  287 

For  them,  gone  was  this  world  of  ill, 
And  Time  in  mid  career  stood  still. 
Of  this  poor  mortal  life  each  hour 
Is  bounded,  rneted  by  time's  power, 
Love's  kiss  and  death's  alone  may  be 
Named  children  of  eternity. 
The  happy  pair !  in  fire  earth's  frame 
Might  roll,  they  would  not  see  the  flame  ; 
The  firmament  of  heaven  might  rock 
And  fall,  they  would  not  hear  the  shock ! 
The  Genius  of  the  North  and  South, 
Thus  had  they  stood  with  mouth  to  mouth, 
And  passed,  unconscious,  in  that  kiss, 
From  earthly  into  heavenly  bliss  ! 

From  that  elysian  flight,  earthward 
Came  Axel  first.     "  Now  by  my  sword, 
By  the  pure  honor  of  the  North, 
And  by  yon  stars  that  there  stand  forth 
Like  white-robed  bridemaids  shining  down, 


288  POEMS. 

For  earth  and  heaven  thou  art  mine  own ! 
Far,  far  removed  from  war,  what  bliss, 
Within  some  friendly  vale,  where  peace 
Sheltered  by  mountains  dwclleth  free, 
Could  I  but  live  and  die  with  thee ! 
But  ah  !  an  oath  my  soul  doth  chain ! 
With  pallid  cheek  and  glance  of  ire, 
It  lays  an  icy  hand  between 
Our  hearts  that  burn  with  holy  fire. 
But  fear  not !  all  shall  yet  be  well ! 
Redeemed,  but  never  broken,  shall 
Mine  oath  be !     Now  I  must  away  ! 
When  to  her  feast  of  flowers  fair  May 
Next  bids  us,  I  am  here  again 
To  fetch  my  bride,  my  wife ! — till  then, 
Sweet  maid,  than  life  more  dear  to  me, 
Half  of  my  soul !  farewell  to  thee !  " 

He  spoke, — and  turning  at  the  word, 
Reclasped  his  belt,  resumed  his  sword, 


AXEL.  289 

And  straight  set  forth,  his  journey  through 

The  Czar's  wide  empire  to  pursue. 

Concealed  within  the  woods  by  day, 

By  night  he  held  his  rapid  way 

Towards  heaven's  firm  key-stone,  shining  forth 

The  changeless  pole-star  of  our  North. 

And  gentle  Charles's  Wain,  that  yet 

In  ocean  s  waves  hatn  never  set, 

That  wain  with  shafts  all  silver  bright, 

And  wheels  that  blaze  with  golden  light. 

And  now,  a  thousand  perils  past, 

Through  hostile  troops  he  comes  at  last 

To  Sweden's  capital,  that  hears, 

With  wonder,  what  her  hero  dares, 

And  to  the  councillors  the  king's 

Letter  and  greeting  faithful  brings. 

Meanwhile,  within  her  lonely  halls 
On  Axel's  name  Maria  calls  ; 

She  sighs  it  through  the  woods  profound, 
13 


290  POEMS. 

Teaches  the  hills  and  vales  its  sound. 

"  What  oath  can  hold  him  in  its  band  1 

Some  maiden  of  his  native  land  ? 

Some  former  love  1  can  this  be  true  ? 

My  heart  protests  there  ne'er  are  two  ! 

Thou  snow-veiled  maiden  of  the  North, 

Or  one  of  us  must  die,  or  both  ! 

The  Southern  fire  thou  dost  not  know  I 

Tar  as  thy  frozen  lakes  may  lie 

Among  thy  mountains  clad  in  snow, 

I'll  seek  thee  !  thou  shalt  surely  die  ! 

But  stay  ! — a  child  he  left  the  North, 

Nor  since,  the  country  of  his  birth 

Hath  seen,  and  from  the  camp's  fierce  cry 

Love,  timid  Love,  is  wont  to  fly. 

No  stain  on  brow  that's  arched  like  thine ! 

There  only  truth  and  honor  shine. 

In  thy  pure  glance  I've  read  the  whole, 

The  deepest  secret  of  thy  soul, 

As  the  keen  eye  of  day  looks  through 


AXEL.  291 

The  fount's  clear  depths  of  silvery  blue. 

Why  fleest  thou  then  ?     And  doth  that  vow 

Bind  thee  my  heart  to  break  ?     And  how — 

But  ah !  in  space  my  murmurs  die ! 

A  widow  among  graves  I  sigh, 

A  dove,  that  heaven  and  earth  doth  fill 

With  her  complaints  unanswered  still ! 

Ah !  forests  sigh  and  billows  flow 

Between  us,  and  he  hears  me  not. 

What  if  I  follow !     But,  oh  no ! 

That  for  a  woman  ill  were  thought. 

A  woman !     Who  shall  know  ?    I'll  wear 

A  sword,  and  lo !  the  man  is  there ! 

With  peril  have  I  often  played, 

For  life  and  death  a  die-cast  made ; 

As  grown  to  courser,  bold  I  ride, 

My  bullet  ne'er  hath  swerved  aside. 

Some  angel  prompteth  this  design — 

Now  Axel,  Axel !  thou  art  mine ! 

I'll  seek  thee  in  the  distant  North, 


POEMS. 

I'll  seek  thee  through  the  wide,  wide  earth, 
From  shore  to  shore,  from  dell  to  dell, 
And  force  thee  that  same  oath  to  tell ! 
Bear  me,  O  War  !  upon  thy  wing, 
Till  me  to  Axel's  land  thou  bring  ! " 

Thus  spoke  the  maid ;  so  said,  so  done ! 
Resolve  and  action  are  but  one 
With  woman.     Lo !  the  change  complete ! 
The  helmet  hides  her  locks  of  jet, 
Strong  buff  her  bosom's  wealth  enfolds, 
Powder  and  ball  her  knapsack  holds, 
And  o'er  her  shoulders  white  and  fine, 
Death's  engine  hangs,  a  carabine. 
From  girdle  like  fair  Dian's  zone, 
Pendent  a  flashing  sabre  shone, 
And  round  her  lips  she  drew  a  shade, 
Of  downy  beard  that  semblance  made, 
And  much  it  seemed  as  one  should  choose 
With  dusky  crape  to  wreathe  a  rose. 


AXEL. 

With  belt  and  sword  how  like  she  grew 

To  Cupid  turned  a  hero  too, 

As  blazoned  on  the  glittering  shield 

The  son  of  Clinias  bore  in  field ! 

"  Home  of  my  fathers,  fare  thee  well ! 

I  trust,  in  love  and  peace  I  may 

Return,  once  more  in  thee  to  dwell ; 

But  now  I  can  no  longer  stay. 

Fold  me  within  thy  veil,  O  Night ! 

And  to  my  Axel  aid  my  flight ! " — 

Already  on  a  border  won 

Under  the  eyelid  of  the  North 

Grown  drowsy,  stood  Czar  Peter's  -town. 

There  mortgaged  crowns  from  the  whole  earth 

Are  gathered  now ;  then  in  its  creek 

Still  small  it  lay,  but  dragon-like. 

It  shows  the  serpent,  though  so  young ; 

As  in  the  sun- warmed  sand  he  coils, 

He  hisses  with  his  forked  tongue, 


293 


294:  POEMS. 

Within  his  fangs  the  venom  boils. 
'Gainst  Sweden,  armed  with  fire  and  sword 
There  lay  a  squadron ;  thitherward 
Maria  bent  her  course,  and  where 
Swords  glance  and  banners  flout  the  air, 
She  seeks  a  place  on  board  the  fleet 
.   That  soon  the  Swedish  hosts  shall  meet. 
The  leader  of  that  savage  horde 
Eyed  her  full  sharply,  with  the  word, 
"  More  dangerous,  methinks,  young  swain ! 
Thou'lt  prove  to  Northern  maids  than  men. 
We'll  send  thee !  'tis  not  to  be  feared 
That  they  will  pluck  thee  by  the  beard ! 
But  war's,  stern  art  thou'lt  learn  from  them 
Right  thoroughly.     'Tis  no  child's  game ; 
For  life  and  death  the  venture's  tried,     * 
God  and  Saint  Nicholas  decide !  " 

The  sails  fill  fast,  the  keels  ride  free 
In  foam  upon  the  Baltic  sea ; 


AXEL.  295 


Soon  in  the  sunset's  glowing  light 
The  Swedish  mountains  rise  to  sight , 
Defying  time  and  tide  they  stand, 
A  giant  beacon  nature-planned. 
They  landed  then  at  Sotaskar — 
A  name  to  faithful  hearts  most  dear — 
There  for  the  last  time  Hjalmar  parted 
With  Ingeborg,  there  broken-hearted 
Died  the  fair  maid,  when  ODIN'S  call 
Summoned  her  hero  to  his  hall. 
Around  that  cliff  her  soul  doth  hover 
Sorrowing  e'en  yet  for  her  lost  lover. 
Leucadia  of  the  North !  thy  fame 
Once  great  in  saga,  now  forgot ! 
But  Hjalmar's  death-song  keeps  thy  name, 
And  poet-hearts  forsake  thee  not ! 

From  town  to  town  the  flames  blaze  high, 
The  children  shriek,  the  women  fly, 
For  Eussian  warfare  well  they  know ; 


296 


POEMS. 

And  all  the  neighboring  country  through, 
Both  night  and  day  the  church-bells  swing — 
But  naught  thy  dead  to  life  can  bring, 
Thou  land  bereaved !     Thy  champions  bold, 
Thy  towers  of  strength,  the  grave  doth  hold  ! 
But  Sweden's  danger  now  calls  forth 
Old  men  and  boys  to  save  their  North, 
With  swords  that  served  Gustavus,  when 
Blood  on  Germania's  soil  was  spilt, 
And  halberds  that  had  crossed  the  Belt, 
Now  blunt,  but  used  to  victory  then  ; 
And  many  a  blunderbuss  appears 
Whose  rusty  matchlock  proves  its  years. 
'Twas  all  that  Sweden  still  possessed — 
A  little  troop,  and,  for  the  rest, 
111  armed,  but  without  doubt  or  fear 
.Against  the  invader  they  draw  near. 
But  'twas  no  fight  of  man  to  man ! 
Round  him  a  cloud  the  foeman  threw, 
And  from  -the  cliff  courage  in  vain 


AXEL. 

Would  seek  to  scale,  his  lightnings  flew, 
And,  unchastised,  Death's  tireless  hand 
Mowed  the  thin  ranks  of  that  small  band. 

As  comes  the  avenging  god  of  war 

With  belt  and  hammer,  angry  THOR, 

So  Axel  to  the  field,  where  dread 

And  flight  are  reigning,  hurrieth, 

A  succoring  angel  sent  in  need ! 

His  breast  is  steel,  his  arm  is  death, 

The  Swedes  he  rallies ;  left  and  right 

He  flies  upon  his  courser  white. 

"  Stand,  friends  !  close  up  your  ranks  anew  ! 

From  Charles,  our  king,  I  come  to  you, 

From  his  own  lips  a  greeting  bring, 

Our  watchword  still,  God  and  the  King ! " 

"  God  and  King  Charles  !  "  echoes  through  all 

Their  lines ;  they  heed  the  hero's  call. 

The  height  whence  pours  that  shower  of  death 

Is  stormed  and  taken  in  a  breath, 
13 


297 


298 


POEMS. 

Silenced  the  cannon's  roar ;  like  grain 
Weapons  and  corpses  strew  the  plain, 
And  swords  smite  blindly,  but  right  true, 
The  necks  of  that  wild  flying  crew, 
And,  panic-struck,  the  robber  band, 
Slipping  their  cables,  leave  the  strand. 

Sleeping,  like  glutted  beast  of  prey, 

Upon  the  field  grim  Slaughter  lay. 

From  heaven's  pavilion  shone  the  moon 

Upon  that  desolation  down. 
Along  the  shore  by  night  o'erspread, 
Walked  Axel  sighing  'mong  the  dead. 
In  couples  lying,  how  they  clasp 
Each  other !  deathly  strong  that  grasp ! 
A  true  embrace  would'st  thou  behold, 
Look  not  on  lovers,  who  enfold 
Each  other  smiling;  go 
Forth  rather  to  the  battle  !  see 
How  to  his  heart  foe  presseth  foe, 


AXEL. 

In  the  last  dying  agony ! 
"  Transports  of  love  and  pleasure  pass 
Swiftly  as  doth  spring's  fleeting  breath ; 
But  hate  and  pain  and  woe,  alas ! 
Are  faithful  even  unto  death." 
Thus  sighing,  sudden  doth  he  shrink 
To  hear  a  voice  complaining  cry, 
"  I  thirst,  O  Axel !  give  me  drink ! 
Receive  my  farewell  ere  I  die ! " 
Those  tones  familiar !  at  the  sound, 
He  clears  the  steep  height  with  a  bound. 
Lo !  leaning  'gainst  the  rock,  there  stood 
A  stranger,  wounded,  bathed  in  blood. 
Forth  from  a  cloud  the  moon's  bright  glance 
Fell  on  that  pallid  countenance ; 
With  a  wild  shriek  of  horror,  he 
Cries  shudderingly,  "  O  God !  'tis  she !  " 
'Twas  she  indeed !     Her  wounds'  deep  smart 
Hiding,  her  whisper  faintly  fell ; 
"  Oh,  welcome,  Axel ! — No,  farewell ! 


300  POEMS. 

Death's  chills  are  gathering  round  my  heart ! 
Oh !  ask  not  what  hath  brought  me  here ! 
'Tis  love  alone  hath  made  me  err ! 
When  shades  of  endless  night  come  o'er  us, 
And  the  tomb's  gate  stands  close  before  us, 
How  different  then  this  life  appears  ! 
How  small  its  sorrows  and  its  cares ! 
Love  only,  blameless,  pure  like  ours, 
Goes  with  us  to  the  heavenly  bowers. 
Thine  oath,  that  I  have  sought  to  know, 
To  me  the  shining  stars  will  show ; 
There  it  stands  written ;  I  shall  see, 
As  clear  as  they,  thy  truth  to  me. — 
I  know  I  have  done  thoughtlessly, 
I  know  thou  sorrowest  sore  for  me ! 
Forgive  me — for  love's  sake  thou  must ! — 
Each  tear  thou  sheddest  o'er  my  dust. 
Parent  or  brother  I  had  none, 
But  thou  to  me  wcrt  all  in  one ; 
Thou  wort  my  all !— O  Axel  swear, 


AXEL. 

That  even  in  death  thou  hold'st  me  dear ! — 

Thou  swearest ! — Wherefore  murmur  I  ? 

For  life,  of  all  her  poesy 

The  fairest,  best,  hath  dealt  to  me ; 

Thy  bride ! — and  on  thy  heart  to  die ! 

And  shall  not  now  my  dust  repose 

On  soil  thou'st  saved  from  its  foes  ? 

Axel,  behold !  over  the  moon 

A  cloud  is  passing ;  when  'tis  flown, 

Then  I  depart ;  my  soul  shall  stand 

Transfigured  on  the  heavenly  land 

Praying  for  thee,  and  from  the  skies 

Watch  o'er  thee  with  immortal  eyes. 

Plant  by  my  grave  a  southern  rose, 

And  when  it  dies  'neath  winter  snows — 

Child  of  the  sun— think  of  thy  bride, 

Who  lieth  sleeping  by  its  side. 

Brief  was  her  bloom !— But,  Axel,  see ! 

The  cloud  is  gone,  my  spirit  free ! 


301 


302  POEMS. 

Farewell,  farewell !  "  faintly  she  sighs, 
Convulsive  grasps  his  hand — and  dies. 


Forth  from  the  Stygian  flood,  not  Death, 
But  his  young  brother,  MADNESS,  rose. 
His  face  is  pale,  a  poppy  wreath 
Amid  his  locks  dishevelled  shows ; 
By  turns  he  gazes  on  the  ground, 
By  turns  looks  upward  to  the  skies ; 
His  mouth  convulsed  a  smile  plays  round, 
And  tears  bedim  his  half-shut  eyes. 
Poor  Axel's  head  with  wand  of  power 
He  touched,  and  ever  from  that  hour 
The  youth  with  ceaseless  step  doth  walk 
Around  the  grave,  as  sagas  say 
In  olden  time  the  dead  would  stalk 
Round  where  their  buried  treasures  lay. 
And  day  and  night  that  shore  so  lone 
Echoes  his  sad  and  touching  moan. 


AXEL. 

"  Hush,  hush  !  thou  blue  and  billowy  sea, 
Against  the  shore,  oh,  beat  not  so  ! 
For  in  my  dreams  thou  troublest  me  ; 
I  do  not  love  to  hear  thy  flow. 
Thy  foaming  waves  with  blood  are  red  ; 
And  Death  upon  my  shore  thou'st  led. 
But  late,  a  youth  here  bleeding  lay, 
I  made  his  grave  with  roses  gay  ; 

For  he  was  like 1  well  know  whom  ! 

I'll  bring  her  home,  when  spring  doth  bloom. 

They  tell  me  that  my  bride  doth  rest 

In  earth, — that  o'er  her  faithful  breast 

The  green  sod  grows  ; — Oh,  no  !  herself 

Last  night  upon  that  rocky  shelf 

I  saw,  pale  as  they  paint  the  dead, 

But  that  was  from  the  moonbeam's  light. — 

O'er  lip  and  cheek  a  chillness  spread, 

'Twas  from  the  cold  wind  of  the  night. — 

I  prayed  the  lovely  shape  to  stay  ; 

She  laid  her  finger  on  my  brow 


303 


304 


POEMS. 

So  dark  and  heavy  ;  then  it  grew 

As  light  and  joyous  as  the  day. 

How  shone  they  in  the  far,  far  East, 

Those  days  departed  !     Oh,  how  blest 

Were  they,  how  heavenly  and  how  fair  ! 

How  happy  was  poor  Axel  there  ! 

A  castle  stood  deep  in  a  grove, 

It  was  the  mansion  of  my  love. 

Pierced,  dying,  in  a  wood  apart 

I  lay,  life  gav$  she  with  a  kiss, 

To  my  embrace  she  gave  her  heart, 

That  heart  so  warm,  so  rich  in  bliss ! 

Now  in  her  faded  breast,  like  stone 

It  lieth  cold  ! — and  all  is  gone  ! 

Ye  stars  that  burn  in  yonder  sky, 

I  pray  you,  quench  your  light  and  die ! 

I  knew  a  morning-star  so  bright — 

A  sea  of  blood  hath  drowned  its  light ! 

The  scent  of  blood  breathes  from  the  strand, 

Its  crimson  stain  is  on  my  hand  !  " — 


AXEL.  305 

Such  was  the  wail  on  Sotaskar  ! 

When  the  day  kindled,  he  was  there, 

Nor  turned  away  at  fall  of  eve, 

But  lingered  still  to  watch  and  grieve. 

Dead  on  that  shore  one  morn  he  sat, 

With  folded  hands,  as  if  in  prayer, 

On  the  pale  cheek  tears  resting,  that 

Were  stiffened  by  the  frosty  air, 

And  on  the  grave  wherein  she  slept 

His  eyes,  though  glazed  in  death,  he  kept. 


Such  was  the  saga  that  I  heard. 
How  deep,  how  tenderly  it  stirred  ! 
Full  thirty  winters  since  have  strewn 
Their  snows  ;  my  heart  preserves  it  still ; 
For  childhood's  fancies  sharply  drawn, 
With  outline  clear,  are  graven  well 
Upon  the  poet's  soul ;  there  they, — 
As  in  King  Heimer's  harp  once  lay 


306  POEMS. 

Fair  Aslog  * — rest,  till  starting  forth, 
Like  her  they  prove  their  noble  birth 
With  gorgeous  robes  and  bearing  high, 
And  golden  hair  and  kingly  eye. 
Oh  !  childhood's  heaven  doth  ever  hold 
Its  counties  lyres  of  ruddy  gold ; 
Whate'er  the  bard  doth  later  sing, 
Heroic  deeds,  or  flowers  of  spring, 
In  fairer  forms  all  hath  passed  by, 
In  earlier  days,  his  childhood's  eye. 
Still,  when  in  verdant  spring  the  quail 
Strikes  out  his  music  in  the  vale, 
And  Luna  from  the  eastern  wave 
Starts  like  a  spectre  from  the  grave, 

*  Aslog  or  Aslaug  was  the  daughter  of  Sigurd  Fafnisbani,  (slayer  of 
the  dragon  Fafnir,)  a  sort  of  Scandinavian  Hercules,  and  Brynhilda.  At  the 
death  of  her  father  and  mother  she  was  three  years  old,  and  Heimir,  Bryn- 
hilda's  foster-father,  fearing  for  her  the  hostility  of  family  enemies,  con 
cealed  her,  with  splendid  garments  and  much  treasure,  in  a  large  harp, 
with  which  he  wandered  about  as  a  mendicant  musician.  The  rich  cloth 
ing  having  been  observed  through  an  opening  in  the  harp,  by  the  mistress 
of  the  cottage  where  they  lodged,  she  incited  her  husband  to  kill  Heimir, 
and  the  harp  being  broken  open,  Aslog  was  discovered.  Sigurd  is  a  fa 
vorite  hero  of  the  Scandinavian  mythic  legends,  and  his  life  and  exploits 
form  the  principal  subject  of  the  Icelandic  Volsunga-Saga. 


AXEL.  307 


And  painteth  hill  and  painteth  dale 
So  sadly  with  death's  color  pale, 
Then  sighs  this  ballad  in  mine  ear, 
And  yet  again  I  seem  to  hear 
The  song  learned  at  the  old  man's  side, 
Of  Axel  and  his  Russian  bride. 


SONG  OF  THE  LAPLAND  LOYEE. 


FEOM  THE   SWEDISH   OF   FKANZEN. 


FRANCIS  MICHAEL  FRANZEX  -was  born  at  Uleaborg  in  Finland,  in 
1772,  but  retired  to  Sweden,  when  that  province  was  ceded  to  Russia, 
and  became  Bishop  of  Hornoesand,  in  which  position  he  remained 
until  his  death  in  1847.  He  was  among  the  most  conspicuous  and 
active  members  of  the  Swedish  Academy,  and  his  poeins,  the  best  of 
which  are  of  a  simple,  natural,  idyllic  character,  are  deservedly  popu 
lar  in  Sweden.  The  following  song  has  been  especially  admired. 


SPRING,  my  reindeer  swift ! 
Over  field  and  fell ! 
Where  my  girl  doth  dwell 
Thou  shalt  paw  the  drift ! 
There  the  mosses  grow 
Thick  beneath  the  snow  ! 

Ah,  how  short  the  day  ! 
And  the  way  so  long  ! 


SONG-  OF  THE  LAPLAND  LOVEK.         309 

Spring,  then,  at  my  song  ! 
Let  us  haste  away  ! 
Eest  thou  may'st  not  here  ! 
Wolves  are  ever  near  ! 

See,  there  flies  the  ern ! 
Blest  the  winged  indeed  ! 
See  yon  cloudlet  speed  ! 
Were  I  on  it  borne, 
I  had  now  erewhile 
Seen  thy  far-off  smile. 

Thou,  this  heart  that  hast 
Quickly  made  thy  prey — 
Thus  the  wild  deer  they 
To  the  tame  make  fast — 
Cataract-strong  to  thee 
Down  thou  drawest  me ! 

Since  thy  face  I've  known, 
Thoughts  by  thousands  flit 


310  POEMS. 


Through  me,  day  and  night — 
Thousands,  yet  but  one  ! 
All  in  one  combine — 
How  to  make  thee  mine  ! 

Thou,  to  hide,  may'st  lie 
'Mong  the  rocks  below  — 
Where  the  fir-woods  grow, 
With  thy  reindeer  fly — 
Away,  away,  for  me 
Shall  both  rock  and  tree  ! 

Spring,  my  reindeer  swift ! 
Over  field  and  fell ! 
Where  my  girl  doth  dwell 
Thou  shalt  paw  the  drift ! 
There  the  mosses  grow 
Thick  beneath  the  snow  ! 


THE  MOSS-EOSE. 

FEOM  THE  GERMAN  OF  HELMINE  VON  CHEZY,  GEB.  VON  KLENKE. 

DEEP  in  a  dell,  'neath  woodland  shade, 
Tlie  green  and  tender  moss  was  spread, 

A  carpet  velvet-soft. 
Small  to  the  eye  indeed,  yet  still 
Its  tree-like  form  was  wonderful — 

Branch,  bough  and  leafy  tuft. 

The  low  moss  saw  the  wood's  green  pride, 
The  blushing  rose ;  "  Such  pomp,"  it  sighed, 

"  Heaven  hath  refused  me  quito. 
Here  many  a  light  foot  treadeth  free, 
But  not  an  eye  doth  look  on  me — 

All  turn  them  to  the  light ! " 


312  POEMS. 

Lo  !  through  that  grove,  when  twilight  glows, 
With  wandering  step  the  Saviour  goes, 

His  features  pale  and  wan ; 
'Twas  grateful  when  the  soft  moss  met 
So  closely  round  His  bleeding  feet 

That  still  must  journey  on. 

Late  had  he  left  the  desert  land 

Where  fiercely  burned  the  sun  and  sand — 

The  soft  moss  cooled  His  heat ; 
Then  spake  the  Saviour,  "  From  above 
On  thee  hath  been  bestowed  such  love, 

So  earnest,  tender,  great ! 

"  In  the  slight  form  assigned  to  thee 
Was  ever  eye  too  blind  to  see 

The  Maker's  power  and  grace  ? 
Thou  little  plant  so  lightly  prized, 
Thee  hath  thy  Father  not  despised, 

Be  patient  in  thy  place  !  " 


THE   MOSS-ROSE.  313 

Scarce  had  the  Saviour  spoken  thus, 
When,  suddenly,  springs  from  the  moss 

A  rose  most  fair  to  see. 
From  it  the  name  of  moss-rose  comes, 
And  now  in  every  land  it  blooms. 

Sweet  type  of  modesty. 

Into  Christ's  earthly  cup  some  sweet 

The  moss  had  poured — had  kissed  His  feet ; 

This  its  reward  at  last. 
O  heart,  still  true  and  tender  rest, 
If,  like  the  moss,  thou  art  depressed, 

The  rose  is  budding  fast ! 


14 


THE    GLOW-WORM. 

FROM  THE  GERMAN  OF  HELMIXE  VOX  CHEZY,  GEB.  VOX  KLEXKE. 

THE  blessed  John  once  walked  beside 
A  limpid  stream,  and  watched  its  tide. 
Through  grass  and  flowers  his  pathway  lies, 
He  marks  them  well  with  loving  eyes, 
So  fresh  their  bloom,  so  fair  to  sight — 
<  Oh,  God,  this  earth  of  Thine  how  bright  ! 
The  little  floweret  smiling  still 
While  buds  and  verdure  fill  the  vale  ! 
There's  not  a  leaf  or  flower,  I  ween. 
But  hath  a  sense  of  life  within. 
Each  little  worm,  though  meanly  dressed, 
Is  in  its  conscious  being  blessed. 
Where'er  a  spark  of  life  doth  dwell 
The  love  of  God  abideth  still ! ' 


THE    GLOW-WOKM.  315 

With  glowing  heart  thus  musing,  he 

Upon  the  earth  a  worm  doth  see ; 

A  poor,  gray  thing,  of  make  so  slight 

His  foot  had  well-nigh  crushed  it  quite. 

He  lifted  it,  with  tender  care, 

And  placed  it  on  a  blossom  fair. 

"  Live,  live  !  "  the  loved  disciple  said, 

"  For  thee,  too,  were  spring's  bounties  shed  ! " 

The  touch  scarce  felt  that  little  frame, 

When  a  quick  sense  of  blessing  came ; 

Love's  warmth  through  every  fibre  flows. 

And  lo,  with  pleasing  light  it  glows  ! 

Wings  grow  apace,  and  him  they  bear 

Through  the  wide  pathway  of  the  air ; 

O'er  tree  tops,  on  soft  gales  of  night, 

He  floats  as  flashing  emerald  bright, 

Or,  spread  upon  a  flower,  he  lies 

Like  a  star  fallen  from  the  skies  ; 

Soft  on  the  turf  then  sinks  that  ray, 

And,  loving  still,  doth  pale  away. 


A    GODLIE    HYMNE, 


INDITED   BY    HULDBYCII    ZWINGLE,    WHEN  HE    WAS  SMITTEN    OF   TE 
PESTILENCE. 


I.    In  ye  begynninge  of  hys  malady e. 

Lorde  God,  heJpe  mee 
In  this  my  neede  ! 
I  thinke  indeedc 
Dethe's  at  the  doore. 


BIN  CHRISTENLICII  GSANG, 

GESTELLT  DURCH  HirLDRYCH  ZWINGM,  ALS  ER  MIT  1'ESTILENZ  ANGGEIFFEN  WARD. 

I.  Im  An  fane/  der  Krankheit. 

Hilf,  hcrrgott,  hilf 
In  discr  not ! 
Ich  mcin  der  tod 
Syg  an  der  thiir. 


A    GODLIE    HYMNE.  317 

Stonde  Thou  before 

Mee,  Christ,  for  Thou  hast  vanquisht  Dethe ! 

I  crye  to  Thee  ; 

PluckerifThou  wille, 

The  shafte  oute  stille, 

That  woundeth  sore, 

And  not  an  houre 

Dothe  let  me  drawe  in  peace  my  brethe ! 

If  Thou  decree 

That  I  shal  be 

Dethe's  praye,  my  dayes  halfe  ronne, 


Stand,  Christe,  fur, 

Dann  du  in  iiberwundcn  hast. 

Zuo  dir  ich  gilf : 

1st  es  din  will, 

Zilch  us  den  pfyl 

Der  mich  verwundt ; 

Nit  lass  ein  stund 

Mich  haben  weder  ruow  noch  rast. 

Willt  du  dann  glych 

Tod  haben  mich 

Inraitts  der  tagen  inin, 


318  POEMS. 


So  thenne,  Thy  wille  be  done ! 

Doe  Thou  Thy  choyce; 

r 
I  have  no  voyce  ; 

Thy  creature  stille 

Make  whole,  or  spille ! 

And  callest  Thou 

My  spirit  nowe 

Awaye  from  tyme, 

Thou  sav'st  it  from  alle  worser  cryme, 

And  ne'er  againe- 

Another's  soule  'twill  tainct  wyth  sinne. 


So  soil  es  willig  syn. 

Thuo  wie  du  willt : 

Mich  nut  befilt. 

Din  haf  bin  ich : 

Mach  ganz  aid  brich. 

Dann  nimmst  du  hin 

Den  geiste  min 

Von  diser  erd, 

Thuost  dus  dass  cr  nit  boeser  werd 

Aid  andern  nit 

Beflcck  ir  lebcn  froinni  und  sitt. 


A   GODLIE   HYMNE.  319 

II.    In  the  middest  of  ye  disease. 
Give  comfort,  Lorde ! 
Mine  ill  doth  waxe, 
My  frame  paine  raekes, 
My  spirit,  feare. 
Therefore  drawe  neare, 
Thou  onlie  Comforter  !  with  grace 
That  do  the  accorde 
Pardon  to  alle 
On  Thee  that  calle 
With  hope  entyre 

II.  In  Mitten  der  Krankheit. 

Troest,  herr  gott,  troest ! 

Die  krankheit  wachst, 

Wee  und  angst  fasst 

Min  seel  und  lyb. 

Darura  dich  schyb 

Gen  mir,  einiger  trost,  mit  gnad  ; 

Die  gwiiss  erlocst 

Bin  ieden  der 

8in  herzlich  bger 

Und  hoiFnung  setzt 

In  dich,  verschatzt 


320 


POEMS. 

And  strong  desyre, 

And  count  erthe's  gaine  or  losse  but  base. 

Nowc  alle  is  o'er  ! 

I  noe  worde  more 

Can  speake ;  my  tonge  is  dombe, 

My  senses  all  are  nombe. 

For  thy,  'tis  neede 

That  Thou  do  pleade 

My  cause  at  lengthe. 

I  have  no  strengthe 

Wherewyth  I  mighte 


Darzuo  diss  zyts  all  nutz  und  schad. 

Xun  ist  es  um. 

Min  zung  ist  stumm, 

Mag  sprechen  nit  ein  wort. 

Min  sinn  sind  all  verdorrt. 

Darum  ist  zyt 

Dass  du  min  stryt 

Fuerist  furhin, 

rfo  ich  nit  bin 

So  stark,  dass  ich 

Mceg  tapferlich 


A    GODLIE   IIYMNE. 

Fyght   the  goode  fighte, 

And  bolde  withstonde 

The  Di veil's  wyles  and  cruel!  lionde. 

Yet  fixt  shall  be, 

Howe'er  he  rage,  my  heartc  on  Thee  ! 

III.     Whenne  hys  sicknesse  was  amended. 

Helthe,  helthe,  O  Lorde  ! 
I  thynke  at  laste 
The  paryl  paste, 
Thou  willynge,  sinne 


Thuon  widerstand 

DCS  tiifels  facht  und  frefncr  hand. 

Doch  wirt  min  gmuet 

Sttet  blyben  dir,  wie  er  joeh  wuet. 

III.  In  der  Bewserung. 

Gsund,  herr  gott,  gsund  ! 
Ich  mein  ich  keer 
Schon  widrum  her. 
Ja  weim  dich  duukt, 


321 


322 


POEMS. 


Shal  ne'er  againe 

On  erthe  mee  in  hys  daunger  holde. 

My  mouthe  Thy  worde 

And  praise,  moche  more 

Than  e'er  before, 

Shall  publyshe  wyde 

Withouten  guile,  all  plaine  and  bolde. 

Though  I  must  paye 

Dethe's  debt  one  daye, 

And  it  indeede  may  bee 

With  greater  payne  to  mee 


Der  siindcn  funk 

Word  nit  meer  bherschcn  mieh  uf  ord, 

So  muoss  min  mund 

Din  lob  und  leer 

tlssprechen  meer 

Dann  vormals  ie, 

Wie  es  joch  geh, 

Einfaltiglich  on  alle  gfterd. 

Wiewol  ich  muoss 

DCS  todes  buoss 

Erlvden  zwar  eimnal 


A    GODLIE   IIYMNE.  323 

Than  haddo  bcfel, 

Lorde,  if  Thy  wille 

But  even  nowe 

lladde  bid  me  goe, 

Yet  wol  I  beare 

The  stryfe  and  care 

Of  erthe,  O  Lorde, 

In  joyfulle  hope  of  Thy  rewarde, 

Wyth  helpo  from  Thee, 

Withoutc  whych  nought  may  parfyt  bee  ! 


Villycht  mit  groessrcm  qual 

Dann  iezund  waer 

Geschehen,  herr, 

So  ieh  sunst  bin 

Xach  gfaren  bin, 

So  will  ich  doch 

Den  trutz  und  poch 

In  diser  welt 

Tragen  frrelich  um  widergelt 

Mit  hilfe  din, 

On  den  nut  mag  vollkommen  syn. 


TO 

BELOVED  !  thou  whose  tender  care  hath  fed 
My  flickering  lamp  of  life  for  many  a  year, 
Thou  who  hast  watched  beside  my  weary  bed, 
And  dried  with  loving  hand  the  frequent  tear, — 

Who,  when  each  healing  art  had  proved  in  vain, 
With  a  strong  arm  thy  helpless  burthen  bore, 
Despite  the  threatenings  of  the  stormy  main, 
To  milder  breezes  on  a  foreign  shore, — 

Sweet  was  our  rest  in  Arno's  lovely  vale, 
Amid  her  olive  groves,  her  orange  bowers, 
And  if  health  came  not  on  the  balmy  gale, 
Better  than  health  the  memory  of  such  hours ! 


TO 325 

Nor  less  delight  from  Elmo's  rock  to  gaze 
On  the  proud  city  spread  so  fair  below, 
And  on  that  classic  sea  red  with  the  rays 
Of  such  a  sunset  as  those  skies  may  show. 

What  awful  pleasure,  too,  at  midnight  stirred, 
When  from  Vesuvius,  like  a  sudden  day, 
Shot  the  wild  flames  and  molten  lava  poured, 
Turning  to  blood  the  waters  of  that  bay  ! 

Lifting  my  languid  head,  thou  bad'st  me  look 
Where  blazing  rocks  in  showers  were  upward  driven, 
With  mighty  thunderings  from  below,  that  shook 

*. 

As  if  the  fiends  of  hell  again  made  war  on  heaven. 

And  all  one  golden  winter  did  we  lie 
Rocked  softly  on  the  breast  of  Nilus  old, 
Silent  with  wonder,  as  we  floated  by 
Pharaonic  glories  still  left  half  untold. 


326  POEMS. 

Beneath  the  shadow  of  Arabian  palms 
Thou'st  gently  fanned  my  heavy  eyes  to  rest, 
Praying  new  life  might  come  with  spicy  balms 
Breathed  o'er  me  from  the  land  well  named  '  the  Blest.' 

•  On  hallowed  Olivet  our  feet  have  trod, 
Where  He  of  Nazareth  was  wont  to  pray, — 
We  wept  o'er  Salem  that  disowned  her  God, 
Her  glorious  garments  stained,  her  kingdom  rent  away. 

Fair  was  our  summer  home  as  childhood's  dream, 
Where,  robed  in  clouds  of  canvas  floating  free, — 
While  gilded  barges  gay  his  bosom  gem— 

* 

The  dark  blue  Bosphorus  hastes  from  sea  to  sea. 

Greece,  with  her  purple  islands  swathed  in  gold, 
Her  skies  transparent  as  the  ^Egean  flood, 
Her  mountains  that  heaven's  rainbow-robes  enfold — 
Even  on  that  mythic  shore  together  we  have  stood. 


TO .  327 

Nor  sight  of  Nature's  fairest  scenes  alone 
I  owe  thy  love,  O  friend  most  true  and  wise ! 
Art's  highest  wonders,  old  and  new,  thou'st  shown, 
And  taught  me- how  to  see,  and  how  to  prize. 

And  thy  beloved  voice  hath  charmed  mine  ear 
With  many  a  sage's,  many  a  nation's  lore, 
Lifting  my  soul  above  each  selfish  care, 
When  on  the  page  sublime  these  eyes  could  look  no' 
more. 

Lo,  now  the  humble  offering  that  I  make ! — 

A  poor  return  for  culture — well  I  know  ! — 

Given  writh  such  liberal  hand — yet  do  thou  take ! — 

And  may  some  future  day  fruits  less  unworthy  show ! 

THE  END. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 
BERKELEY 


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